


the artist

by josiebelladonna, nirvhannahcornell (josiebelladonna)



Series: at land's end [3]
Category: Alice in Chains, Anthrax (US Band), Metallica, Nirvana (Band), Pearl Jam, Soundgarden (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, Asian Cowgirl Position, Awkward Romance, Banter, Body Worship, Coming In Pants, Coming of Age, Cowgirl Position, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Dorks in Love, Erotica, Eventual Romance, Exploring Sexuality, F/M, First Time, Friendship/Love, Gallows Humor, Hand Jobs, Inspired by Art, Joey and Chris being dorks, Kink Discovery, Love Triangles, Making Love, Modern Era, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV First Person, Phone Sex, Pining, Post-Pandemic, Science Fiction, Sexting, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stoney too, Strong Female Characters, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:09:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 76,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiebelladonna/pseuds/josiebelladonna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiebelladonna/pseuds/nirvhannahcornell
Summary: She was an artist in a world rocked to its foundations by the coronavirus pandemic, and even in the ashes of everything, she found herself an opportunity with the black haired singer from Soundgarden. A gallery and some time, and along came a spider in the form of some equally handsome men, and a particular group beheld a little something different for her. A little change of pace, that is until it seeps through her canvas and the proverbial paint on her hands. Can she keep it all a secret from her parents' curiosity?
Relationships: Chris Cornell/Original Female Character, Dave Grohl/Original Female Character, Joey Belladonna/Original Female Character, Lars Ulrich/Original Female Character, Stone Gossard/Original Female Character
Series: at land's end [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842376
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU featuring Louder Than Love era Chris, blond Dave, Black Album era Lars, Spreading the Disease era Joey, and Mother Love Bone era Stone.
> 
> Let's just say the fact about the pandemic here in the States has gotten me thinking. This was an idea that came to me after my interactions with Joey himself: I thought of a girl who does commissions for rock stars, and with a few of them, she goes a little further than you might expect.
> 
> Yes, this is straight up erotica; let's just say I need to let loose, get down and make a return to the sensual side of life. For me, there is in fact something sexual about making art. It's digging inside of yourself and finding what pleases you and then bringing it to fruition. It's a vulnerable notion... much like the very act itself.
> 
> I've also noticed there isn't a lot of Chris fics to go around, so this will be Chris-centric among other things. I have no idea how long this'll be, or where it's going to go but I hope we'll have some fun here!
> 
> If you're a grunge fan and you don't really know Metallica and Anthrax too well, allow me to introduce you to Joey and Lars; we'll also see appearances from their bandmates as well as Dave Mustaine and Tom Araya. And if you're a metal fan, I hope this can open a door to the grunge scene for you 💜
> 
>  _"One second I'm a kunst,  
>  then suddenly the kunst is me.  
> Pop culture was in art:  
> now, art's in pop culture in me!"_  
> -"Applause", Lady Gaga

He was a tall lithe gentleman with those lush dark curls strewn over his shoulders as though they were the sides of a mane. The way he moved about on a stage with either that shiny mint green guitar cradled in his hands as though it were a naked woman, or the microphone as though it were about to get away from him was enough for me to pick up a pencil. I wanted to touch and caress his black curls, to put them down on paper. He was what I referred to as “draw-able” in that I always returned to him for inspiration.

I swore that it wasn't a phase—I tried to convince my dad that it wasn't a phase, even when I showed him my first drawing of Chris. I was proud of the drawing, too: it was rough and sketchy, and yet you could tell it was him with those long shoulder length curls behind his back and down over his collar bones. I had used a single pencil to draw him as well.

“Holly, you've gotta do something else with your art,” he said to me that first time. “You've got to do some more still life.”

I often heard that a few times thereafter, even as I did more studies of Chris singing and in different stances to understand his anatomy a little better. It always struck me as odd that my art wasn't more embraced at home growing up, even though my parents were more than happy to support me in my path to art school. My dad showed me the one school down in Portland. I wanted to stay there in Tacoma, even with Chris and his band based up in Seattle.

At some point, and by that, I mean a few months before I graduated, to work my way around that complaint, I began incorporating more plants into my drawings of him. More roses and more leaves jutting out from his shoulders and from the crown of his head. I kept those drawings to myself, granted I knew if I shared them with the household they wouldn't be seen as serious art.

One time when I strolled into an art shop for some colored pencils and I had my sketchbook tucked underneath my arm, I went in under the power of a secret. I had climbed off the bus before the one outside of my house. I protected my sketchbook from the soft spring misty rain of the Northwest. I had a few dollars in my pocket, money left over from the stimulus money I had scrounged up. Just enough for some new colored pencils for some more botanical type work for my drawings.

I'm the multiracial kid with the kinky coarse black hair inherited by a Native American mama and the pale skin from my half white daddy. It had been a long road to hoe the past few years in the wake of the pandemic, especially for my mom and me. She and I had been dealing with it with a bit more difficulty from my dad, since he was the one with the job, at least at first. Even though I was a few years younger by the time we got our check, I got one for myself and I made sure the money stretched enough to whenever we got another one.

Even with my drawing pad under my arm, and the introduction of my digital drawing tablet, I had days where it felt like I needed to do something a bit more useful.

It was from all of the times I heard my dad's criticisms about my art in the past. Add to this, the uncertainty from living through a global pandemic and social reset made me wonder where we all would go from the second the dust settled. I needed to rest my head so much following even the smallest projects. I had witnessed the older generation pushed to its brink and stragglers such as myself found themselves at square one for so long that it was difficult to know which way to go. I was always told that I needed something feasible, something to keep me safe. But the pandemic showed that nothing was safe.

Even in my spare time, or in the times I took a day off from drawing, I found myself seeking solace in reading about things like science and of course, listening to music. For years, I found myself leaning more towards the harder side of the rock n' roll world: Soundgarden was the first band I had found, but then there came along Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice in Chains. It helped that they hailed from the north of us, so it made sense to me to find them.

But then there was Metallica and Anthrax.

I would sit on the floor of the living room before my stereo with the radio tuned to the modern rock station nearby, and with my earphones in my ears; I would sit there with my drawing pad cradled in my lap and let the music be my master. I came for the scene to the north, but I found my way to the heavy stuff.

I had used a little bit of the stimulus money to buy myself a couple of albums, on part of the recommendation of the chick in the record store of course.

Those swirling powerful but simple drums riddled throughout the _Black Album_. So simple and yet so strong and with such prowess, perfect for the spine of the music. That strong and exotically beautiful voice from _Spreading the Disease_. I wanted to touch that voice, to put it and cement it down into something like paper. I was enthralled by the power and prowess of heavy metal.

I scoured the channels of Tumblr to see and study their faces, to see Lars and his long lush brown hair and fuzz about his face, to see Joey and his long beautiful black curls and handsome face, to see them all. And yet I still found my way back to Chris. I still found my way back to him and that unique voice. So deep and full in places and yet unafraid to howl.

And yet I felt so far behind them, a teenage girl from a lower end family and with mixed roots. A girl with parents working so hard that they almost ignore the very craft she was proud of.

I wanted to draw him with roses, complete with the lush red and orange petals. Thus I headed to the little store for some new colored pencils—those good ones that come in all manner of shades of color in a silvery tin. I brought my sketchbook along with me to try them out before I bought them for myself. I already had sketched a portrait of Chris himself but I left him as is so as to fill him out later on.

I stepped into the front of the shop and stripped off my hood. I ran my fingers through my coarse black hair and then unbuttoned my jacket: I looked down at the linoleum floor underneath me. My jeans were falling apart: the waist fitted me a little too well at that point and the hems were tattered. My mom vowed to fix them for me, but when the fabric stores were all closed during the pandemic, it was difficult to find anything that could help us.

I shuffled across the shiny linoleum to the aisle with the colored pencils and the nice paints. I stood before the display case and scanned the tins and boxes before me to find anything that would catch my eye.

I was still adjusting to the world following the pandemic: there was a part of me that wanted to stroke my chin in pensive thought but after hearing all of the talk on not touching your face, a part of me continued to resist that very tidbit. I spotted a box of Prismacolor pencils, seventeen of them to be exact.

Seventeen, and as smooth as butter and right within the budget of twenty dollars in my pocket.

I set my sketchbook down on the shelf so I could open the box and reveal those pencils, and I hoped to see them as sharp and new as I would ever see them. I'm usually easy going on all of my tools just out of the nature of the price range, but I wanted to make the roses on Chris as bold and fiery of red as possible. I took out the scarlet red one and opened the sketchbook for the inside cover and I paid no attention to the fact I held the box, open end sideways. Three pencils slid out from under me.

“For crying out loud,” I muttered to myself as I closed the cover and stooped down to fetch them.

“I hope those are nice ones,” a voice caught my ear behind me. I turned around to find him looming right there with me. The most stray tendrils of his inky black hair were tousled a bit even as he sprawled over his collar bones and the front of his black raincoat. I stood upright to meet up with his gaze: he towered over me, such that I could make out the sight of the first sprigs of hair sprouting upon the underside of his chin.

“Easy there,” he cautioned me, which he accompanied with a raising of his hands.

“It's alright,” I assured him, “social distancing hasn't been a thing in quite a while.”

“Nah, I don't mean that—I don't want you to drop any more pencils.”

“Oh!” I fetched up the pencils I had dropped on the floor and then closed up the box before I drop any more. He grinned at me, and I followed his gaze to the sketchbook perched atop the shelf.

“Is that yours, too?” he asked me.

“Why—yes.” I wasn't even flustered and yet I felt it even by his gestures and that gaze from those eyes. He stood so close to me, even with the pandemic behind us. I felt my face growing warm as I took the sketchbook off of the shelf. I forgot I still had it open to that sketched drawing of him; when I took it off of the shelf, I held the drawing of his face right before my chest.

He gasped right as I held it before me.

“Is—Is that me?” he inquiringly asked me in a soft voice.

“Huh?” I clutched at the sketchbook and held the drawing away from him.

“I don't wanna—be rude or intrusive or anything,” he swore to me. My face bloomed with warmth. It had been so long since I showed anyone one of my drawings from my sketchbook, much less anyone outside of my family. I whirled around to see the tender expression upon his face: his eyebrows raised a bit and his head bowed enough for me to wonder if he was flirting with me or not. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and sighed through his nose.

I swallowed and then, gingerly, I turned the sketchbook towards him.

He lowered his eyebrows and brought a hand to his mouth as if he was shocked.

“Oh,” he breathed, “oh, wow, that's wonderful. I love the roses.”

I shrugged.

“I just felt you could use roses,” I confessed to him.

“I love it,” he admitted as he lowered his hand from his mouth. “I'd love to see it when it's colored in.”

“I gotta get some pencils first, though.”

“Have at it, girlie.” He gestured his open palm towards me as if giving me his blessing. I decided on the Prismacolor pencils—I also didn't see anything else that caught my attention. Within time, I made my way up front to break those twenty dollars even. I kept my sketchbook out in the open and I assured the young peppy clerk that I had already opened it and long paid for it. He lingered near the cash register and eyed the ceramic supplies at the front there. I never thought I would've met him there in that art shop and at such a strange time. I wondered if I could make my rapport with him as I paid for the pencils and awaited the change from the clerk there before me.

He met up with me on the other side with a pensive look on his squarish face. I slipped the pencils and the sketchbook into the plastic bag in hand so as to protect both from the incoming rain. I felt myself blushing again at the sight of him: it didn't help matters that he continued to tower over me.

“What's your name?” he asked me, that pensive look still riddled upon his face.

“Holly. As in Hollywood.”

“Hollywood…” He grinned at me. He took out the little burner phone from his jacket pocket: such a sight to see, what with technology the way it had progressed to that point.

“Holly Sherman is my whole name...” My voice trailed off as I watched him open the address book up to a fresh page for a fresh number.

“You want my number, don't you,” I teased him.

“Well, yeah. When the drawing's colored in, I wanna see it.”

I could not resist that offer, and it was that very moment I knew I would have something on my hands. I would have something on my hands even in the wake of the pandemic.


	2. Chapter 2

The pandemic had left us all feeling all manner of shaken. My mom and I knew we had to make the stimulus checks go as far as we could ever possibly make them go in those especially tough months given the whole ordeal came in the form of waves; my dad on the other hand clutched onto his money for dear life. Every penny had to count. Every single one.

It was because of all this here that I learned to hold onto things for dear life, the real important things. The good stuff, in particular Chris' number.

I kept my promise to him: little by little, I worked on the roses surrounding the portrait of him. I always had trouble mastering roses, from their shape to their delicate petals. But I somehow did it with the edges of each of the red and orange colored pencils. Once he was finished, I took a few pictures and sent them to Chris himself.

He titled it “Fresh Deadly Roses” after a song which he felt Soundgarden would make at some point once the music studios opened again. Even though the pandemic was over and the vaccine had made its way into everyone's hands, paranoia still lingered throughout the country. That vaccine might not be fool proof after all: as a result, the future of anything pertaining to music had been thrown up in the air.

In the mean time, I had found my way back towards the darkness that made up Anthrax. Adjacent to that was the power within Nirvana. It sounded so contradictory, especially given the underrated status of the former, but I needed to seek out the darkness, and the current music wasn't doing shit for me. Granted, I found Anthrax a few years before but it was good for me to make a triumphant return to them.

Such salubrious music I listened to as I found out high school would be ending so early for me. But it helped me. I lost myself in Joey's rough but strong melodies. His voice lifted me up from the floor. Those high registers made my toes curl into the soles of my shoes while his lower registers were full, almost sensual at times. I often pictured him singing from the bottom side of his flat belly, and he let it fill out just enough when hitting those low notes.

No one knew when anyone would tour again, and notably, I had no idea when Anthrax would touring again despite the posts from their Instagram and my incessant keeping up with them. But I had my hope they would come to the Pacific Northwest when time permitted: I was dying to see them, and I was dying to see Joey in particular. I confessed it to Chris at one point, “I wish you guys could tour again.”

He replied back with: “me, too. I miss going out and playing up on stage.” He often made note of that on his Twitter.

On the other hand, Joey was often quiet on social media, even though he had his own account next to Scott, Frankie, Charlie, and Danny. There came a point in which while I was drawing Chris and the roses when I wanted to draw him, too. To draw those coarse and yet strangely luxurious curls down around the sides of his head and atop the crown, and that nonchalant and yet emotive face.

I needed to find a good picture of him, one that would take me aback like the portrait of Chris and yet there wasn't much.

The poor man was too underrated—of all the metal singers in the world, he was one difficult to name off in the world. He always brought up the rear and yet I always found it incredibly strange that was the case surrounding him. He had such power and such intensity, and yet there was a quaint little boyish quality to his voice: he was just a boy after all. A lanky little Iroquois boy with a head full of jet black hair. Black as night and eyes as brown as the earth.

The lack of Joey depressed me, and yet I wanted to draw him so much. I really had nothing better to do than to take a stroll outside while there was a break in the rain. I kept my hands tucked in my snug jeans pockets as I made my way towards the center of town. The gray sky over my head served as a blanket of sorts, a cool moist blanket even with the rouse of the marine layer. The breeze blew through the roots of my hair with each step down the cobble stone walkway.

A voice to my right caught my ear.

“I was gonna be singin' the National Anthem—now I dunno what's gonna happen.”

Not an accent we heard here in western Washington. It was almost alien to this area, if I'm honest. Kind of like a New Yorker accent, except there was something different to it. Some kind of warping, like it had been turned inside out.

I halted in place to find out where the voice was coming from. I turned my head to the right to spot him there on the grass. I recognized him almost immediately even by not seeing him too much. He lingered before the little ice cream bar there in the middle of the grass; I recognized him even while he was wrapped up in a fitted little black leather jacket and snug black jeans. My heart skipped a few beats as I ambled towards him.

An opportunity had opened for me, much like the few days before with Chris in the art shop.

He was very handsome, more handsome in person than I had imagined. He even reminded me a bit of Chris with his black curls and soft features: however he stood at a much shorter stature and his skin had a slightly darker tint to it. He was also much slimmer than Chris, a lot slimmer in the chest in particular. He ran his fingers through the little bit of soft looking ringlets on the side of his head and he noticed me walking towards him. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“Hi,” he greeted me in a soft voice: a few ringlets sprawled down his brow and down around the sides of his neck

“Hi—are you waiting in line?” I asked him in a kind voice.

“Um—maybe,” he quipped with a slight twitch of one eyebrow. I grinned at him; an Iroquois boy faced on a Blackfoot girl. Who would've thought this would happen?

I locked onto his brown eyes even as I stood right next to him there at the shiny metal counter.

“You gonna get ice cream or sump'n?” he asked me.

“Either that or a lemonade,” I replied.

“Eh, it's kinda a li'l too chilly for ice cream anyways,” he said.

“Says who?” I teased him. He parted his dark lips but no sound came out.

“Yeah…” he said as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. He was quite the cute boy, even though I knew he was a bit older than me. Chris was older than me and yet he and I bonded pretty well prior to then. Joey lingered there off to the side as I asked the guy with latex gloves who stood on the inside of the counter for a glass of pink lemonade.

I had a dollar in my pocket but nothing more than that, though. I nibbled on my bottom lip as I delved through my other pockets for some loose change but I found nothing.

“Here, you need some change?” he offered me as he searched inside of his jeans pockets. He took out some quarters and a couple of dimes and handed them to the man.

“Good man, Joe, good man,” he stated to Joey. “You still want a gelato?”

“Of course,” he said with an air of sass; he and I lingered back as we watched him pour me a glass of lemonade and then set it on the counter. I thanked him and stood back next to Joey again.

“Thank you so much,” I told him, and he showed me a sweet little smile.

“It's my pleasure.”

We waited for a couple of minutes and then the man handed Joey his chocolate gelato. He gave his curls and ringlets a toss back behind his head and then he took a little nibble of the ice cream. He padded over to me as I stood away from the counter to let someone else ask for something.

“I hope Anthrax can tour again,” I confessed to him and he gazed on at me with a pensive look on his handsome face.

“Yer tellin' me,” he said as he took another nibble of gelato. “The five of us have been gettin' kinda antsy as of late—especially once the vaccine came out.”

“I'd love to see you guys in particular.”

“I hope ya can! It's not often we see some girls in our audiences, at least from my point of view anyway...” I liked the way he enunciated certain words, like there was something endearing about his way of saying “not” as “naht” coupled with the soft boyish tone of his voice. He then turned his head to me with that pensive look still upon his face.

“Are you—Native American, by any chance?”

“Blackfoot. On my mom's side.” He raised his eyebrows at me.

“I ain't fuckin' with you,” he remarked.

“Why? The Iroquois are badasses.”

“But you guys fought the Sioux nation.” He moved his head in closer to me. “You guys 'n the Crow—ya fought the Sioux nation.”

“Yeah, but you guys fought the British, the French, and the Mohicans, though.”

“Oh, please, like no one would'a fought the British anyway,” he scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “Or the French or the Mohicans, either.”

I took another sip from the paper cup of pink lemonade before I spoke again.

“I wish more people would show you some love,” I said to him. “You deserve it.”

He raised his eyebrows at me again and then his dark lips formed that quaint little Mona Lisa smile, complete with a filling out of his full cheekbones.

“So do you,” he retorted to me. “You n' I, we lived through the pandemic.”

“That, and I don't know anyone who could name Joey Belladonna, though,” I pointed out. He nibbled on his bottom lip and brought the gelato closer to his chest.

“I dunno anyone who could name—” he hesitated.

“Holly.”

“Hahlly.” He took another nibble of gelato.

“By the way, I love your accent,” I complimented him, and he shrugged at me.

“It's just that upstate drawl,” he explained, “nuttin' fancy.”

“I like it, though. It's kinda—”

“Kinda what?”

“—sexy.”

He tilted his head forward and raised his eyebrows.

“Ya think it's sexy,” he muttered as he stuck out his tongue and took a lick of the gelato. He locked eyes with me all the while, and I giggled at him. I probably should have told him that I wasn't eighteen yet, even when he gave me his number. I probably should have told him that he was the older guy for me.

But then again, there was something about reveling in the comfort of that mystery, especially with him involved.


	3. Chapter 3

I still recall the thick of the pandemic almost down to the detail. There came several points in which I had to switch off the TV and I had to log out to take time to myself. I sought out the power of music to help out and go hand in hand with my art. I would spend hours a day bunked up in my room while my parents worked from home: I had nothing more than my drawing pad, both physical and digital, and the music in my ears.

All the music I sought out touched my soul in some way. It was all I could resort to when the days lacked any miasma of hope. Hearing their voices and all that lovely music was enough to keep my spirits alive. I wanted to remain positive and that there was in fact a light at the end of that tunnel. I even played around with my neck gaiter and accompanied with things like paper flowers and my hats. I wanted to have fun, even with everything closed; thus to meet up with Chris and Joey not only felt like a dream come true to me, but it also fulfilled something I had yearned for during that lonesome time.

It was especially lonely when I felt like I couldn't speak to people on Twitter: the lack of any true genuine conversation left me feeling out in the cold. I wanted to talk to someone about Nirvana and all I got were these random memes about “Teen Spirit.” So many complainers, too much politics, too much fear, and not enough comfort.

I actually met Dave from Nirvana two days after I met Joey there in the park. It happened in one fell swoop I had his as well as Chris' numbers in my address book and whenever I found a moment over those next two days, I texted to and fro with Chris and Joey. The former always greeted me in the morning with a sweet text. Short and sweet and just enough to beckon a smile from my face.

I told Joey I was an artist and he seemed rather elated when I told him I wanted to draw him.

“I wanna see it when it's done!” he told me, to which he followed up with a little blue heart. He sent me a little blue heart to sort of mirror my purple heart towards him.

Chris meanwhile, texted me every day. I knew he only lived about ten minutes from me up the road: he told me he lived in the neighborhood right outside of the Queen Anne borough of Seattle.

“I can look right out my window and see Mount Rainier right outside of my window,” he said. “You ever see Mount Rainier at sunrise following a rainstorm?”

“A couple of times,” I confessed; I recalled one morning during the worst part of the pandemic wherein it had rained the night before, and I peered out the window at the mother mountain herself, and those cold rain clouds surrounded her summit, and the rising sun filtered through to paint the glaciers a rich, beautiful orange creamsicle color. But he sent me a photo from his window where he stood right next to Rainier and made it look as though he dwarfed it: he stooped down and held the palm of his hand down towards the summit, of which the sunrise had painted a bright beautiful pink and all different shades of yellow. I chuckled at the picture and I had thought of sharing it with my mom, but I decided to keep it for myself, especially when he sent me a picture of himself making it look as though he made Rainier his chair—complete with bent knees and everything! as he put it.

Meanwhile, I scoured the Internet for a good picture of Joey. No matter where I went, and no matter how many times I typed in Joey Belladonna, it gave me nothing more than something with himself as well as Scott, Danny, Frankie, and Charlie. At one point, I lay down on my bed flat on my back and gazed up at the ceiling and tried to picture him from memory. Long jet black curls sprawled down over his shoulders: real handsome face with maybe a tiny little kiss of sun upon his otherwise olive skin.

I reached for my sketchbook to begin with something simple. A skinny little boy with thick strong looking thighs and hips a little on the round side. I stopped myself as I thought of drawing something a little more than him in my sketchbook, a little drawing of myself putting my arms around his slim waist. Slim and—kind of beautiful. He was slender and yet quite shapely: his shoulders were trim and lovely, and accentuated by those black curls.

I had to put down my pencil next to my sketchbook so I could run my fingers through my dark hair.

What a beautiful boy.

Granted, Chris was beautiful to me but there was something hypnotic about Joey. Something that reminded me of like the guy next door. The cute boy next door.

I lifted my head from my pillow and peered out the window. Still some daylight out there.

“Might as well take a walk before the sun goes down,” I muttered to myself. I threw on a purple sweater and my boots, and ran my fingers through my hair. My mom was working late that night anyway: my dad had gone out for something somewhere there in Tacoma, and thus I was left to my own devices for the time being. I had no money with me so it wasn't like I could easily buy myself a glass of lemonade like I did with Joey the other day.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets; on the right side, I could feel the smooth glassy exterior of my phone. I thought of taking a full three sixty shot of the coast, if and when I ever went to the coast again. The whole panoramic view in complete detail: so real it makes you feel as though you're actually there with me.

I came to the corner, right across the street from the service station and I recognized that long streaky blond hair underneath a faded blue ball cap standing there next to the dumpster with a rolled joint in hand. It couldn't be: I crossed the moist pavement and made it look as though I was just walking past him. But then he turned and my eyes locked onto his as well as the cherry at the end of the joint. I recognized that narrow, slender face and those prominent front teeth.

I didn't even realize where I was going.

I ran right into the door right as it swung open.

“Oh, shit!” he declared. I staggered back and rubbed my nose. Lucky for me, I didn't break anything but it still caught me off guard. He lunged for me to ensure I was alright. The guy who walked out of the back door there gaped at me as though I had lost my mind.

“Are you alright?” Dave asked me; the foul odor of the weed burned my nose and made my eyes water a bit, but it had nothing on what I was feeling right then with his face before me. I fluttered my eyelashes and grinned at him.

“I think so?”

He showed me a smirk, complete with those big pearly teeth up front. I felt my phone vibrating in my sweater pocket. Chris was texting me. Or maybe it was Joey. I had no idea at that point and at the same time, Dave wanted my attention. I didn't want to interrupt his train of thought with something as trivial as my phone.

He guided me away from the open door there and huddled next to me at the corner of the building as though he felt cold. Granted, it had rained all day that day, but I felt colder than this, though. Once I had myself pulled together, he took another puff of the joint.

“I know, I'm a little funny looking,” he confessed to me.

“Nonsense,” I retorted.

“No, it is sense,” he teased me, to which I chuckled at him. “Look at my teeth!”

“I'm looking, alright—they're so pearly.”

“Hey—you wanna know a secret?”

It was so sudden and yet it was Dave Grohl, for crying out loud!

“Sure?” I replied with a bit of reticence. He peered over his shoulder right as the guy padded back into the building: that time, he checked behind the door to ensure no one was back behind there.

“You know what a lily and a chrysanthemum have in common?” he asked me, to which I chuckled again.

“They're both flowers?”

He took another puff from his joint before he shook it out and gestured for me to follow him. I swallowed but I trusted him. He led me to the front of the gas station, past the polished clean ice machine and the sliding double doors. He peered over his shoulder to ensure I was still with him; my nose and my chest still ached from running into that door. We reached the other side of the building where we were met with a square of black pavement. Beyond that stood a vast stretch of lush, full grown plants lined by a couple of short stubby evergreen pine trees. Dave led me towards the garden, to which I stood there and took a deep intake of breath from the fresh earthy aroma of all the plants.

In the dim light, I noticed all of the plants were held up by delicate little wires, so delicate in fact that I swore they resembled to translucent silk webs courtesy of spiders. The wires led back to a series of sleek wooden posts in between the pine trees. The plants meanwhile ranged anywhere from flowers like little white lilies and bright yellow chrysanthemums to vegetables and berries.

A long haired man knelt down before one of the blackberry plants sprouted from the dark soil. He lifted his head and showed me his prominent brow over big eyes and soft cheekbones.

“Hi, there,” he greeted me in a soft voice.

“What's all this?” I asked them.

“This is our post collapse garden,” Dave explained to me as he ran his fingers through the blond hair on the side of his head. “Stone and I began planting this when things started to come unraveled. We saw the end coming and so we decided to get our hands dirty in the remote part of the world before things really got out of hand.”

“It was actually his idea,” Stone gestured to Dave. “My band disbanded after the death of my friend and he was out on the job, and so we looked at one another and went 'fuck it. Let's plant a garden together and help fix things before they got worse. The country had gone sideways at that point.”

My phone vibrated again, this time a much more prolonged vibration. Someone was calling me, but I would have to let it go to voice mail.

I turned back to Dave, whose blond hair glowed an eerie golden tone from the neon lights of the service station and the fading sunlight to our right.

“So what's the deal about a lily and a chrysanthemum?” I asked him. He stooped down to one of the lilies down below and one of the chrysanthemums, and picked them off of the stem. He handed them to me with a warm smile on his face.

“Why, thank you,” I told him as I took the flowers and took a whiff of them. As fresh as anything. We all had returned to the earth during the pandemic and then came out the other side with the bullet in our hands, and yet some time along the way, I had forgotten the sweet aroma of a big white and pink lily straight from the soil.

Stone climbed to his feet and wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans: his smooth hair dangled down around his collar bones and his slender shoulders.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered me.

“Some lemonade, please,” I replied to him.

“I'll take a beer,” Dave added. I peered down at those spider webs of wires around a particular plant right behind him, one with leaves that resembled to that on a mint plant. But I knew it wasn't mint.

“Do—the people here know you guys are running this garden here?” I asked him as I held the flowers close to my chest, and he nodded his head.

“Yeah, but we're a little paranoid about it, though,” he confessed.

“Why's that?”

“Because I'm in Nirvana and Stone's tryin' to look for work.”

“That shouldn't make you paranoid, though.”

“Everyone's tryin' to shake off the whole thing against partaking in a bunch of things. You know—remember the whole 'essential' thing during the pandemic? You had to specialize in something otherwise you were told otherwise. I want to play drums and sing, but I also want to grow all of this and paint and do all kinds of stuff. My fear is that if we're caught down here in Tacoma, our garden will go by the wayside and we'll have nothing to go to now. I'm in a band and Stone's trying to get back into one, and we both feel like the pandemic sorta killed the music business. And—you know, we put a lot of work into this, too.”

“I can tell.”

He knitted his eyebrows at me.

“What do you do?” he asked me.

“Me? I'm supposed to be in high school, but I guess that's a thing of the past now. I'm just a straight up artist living at home.”

“Is there anything else you do?”

“I love music and science.”

He ran his fingers through his hair again. “Ever think of going a little further with those things?”

“Not really. I'm trying to find my footing in the shambles of everything.”

“Why not start there? Why not start with all of the things you love and go from there? I mean, you said it yourself—high school is a thing of the past now. We're all at square one if I'm honest—” He lifted his gaze to right behind me.

“That was quick!”

I turned around to find Stone striding towards us with a cup of lemonade in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. He said something to Dave as he handed me the lemonade. I set the glass down on the post closest to me and took out my phone from my pocket. Using one finger, I opened up the voice mail and brought the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Hahlly—” I knew that upstate accent anywhere. “—it's Joey. Gimme a call back whenever ya can, please and thank you. I've got sump'n to tell ya.”

I wondered what it could be as I slipped my phone back into my pocket and took a sip of the lemonade.


	4. Chapter 4

Once Dave and Stone had a moment to themselves, I picked my phone out of my pocket and scrounged for Joey's number. He sounded relaxed so I didn't think it could be that urgent. Unless he was the kind of guy to hide his excitement about something, I continued to wonder what it could be about as I brought the smooth screen up to the side of my face.

I took another sip of lemonade as I listened to the dial tone go off once, twice, and then—

“Hey, there's Hahllywood,” he greeted me, which in turn beckoned a chuckle out of me.

“Hi, what'd you wanna tell me?”

“Uh, I'm up here in Seattle right now—I'm with a guy whom I really think you'll like 'cause he's more knowledgeable about the art thing than I am.”

“Oh? Who is it?”

“Ya might be quite surprised. It's naht who ya think.”

“Okay, well—I have to hitch a ride up there, though.”

“'Salright—take yer time. We're outside a, uh—what is this place?”

Someone behind him said something.

“This used'ta be one of those corona speakeasies. Y'know, those places where the careless bastards congregated at when the pandemic was real bad.”

“Oh, yeah, one of those places!”

“Yeah, this place's been spritzed down an' treated well. Smells like lemons in here. So keep your nose open for the rundown lookin' place around Capitol Hill—the one that smells like lemons.”

“Alright. I'll be right there.”

We hung up at the same time and I turned my attention to my lemonade, and then to Stone and Dave, both of whom looked to be potting a plant while using the light from the gas station and from the street lamps.

“I've gotta boogie up to Capitol Hill,” I told them.

“Hang on, we've gotta get some lilies up to Chris,” Stone replied as he cradled the dark earthen flower pots in his arms. Even in the darkness, those lilies glowed that bright pearly white. More white than Dave's teeth.

“He lives in Queen Anne, though,” Dave pointed out.

“Capitol Hill's pretty out of the way, though,” said Stone.

“Not entirely. Especially now.”

Stone fetched up a sigh. “Alright, we can do that—what you say your name was?”

“Holly.”

“Holly Jolly,” Dave echoed.

“Hollywood,” I corrected him, which brought a chuckle out of him.

Perhaps it was the pot talking but I took that as a compliment. He held a flower pot in one hand, one with a base as big as the palm of his hand. He led Stone and me back to the gate, and the three of us padded over to his car. Even with cars having gone completely clean, he drove a rusty ramshackle little thing with two hub caps missing on the left side. They placed the flower pots on the floor underneath the back seat, and I volunteered to sit there right next to them. I kept myself erect there in the seat so I could see where we were headed. Since he had smoked a little weed, Dave asked Stone to drive to Capitol Hill.

Seattle had quite the makeover following the pandemic: so many of those old buildings emptied out with the massive loss of life. Most of them had emptied out to the point that plants began to grow all over the outsides. It looked so striking in comparison to most of the restaurants and little cafes marking the inner city. The Space Needle stood high over everything else: the green and white lights shone bright over the dark neighborhoods. Even with the inner city giving way to the earth, the surrounding neighborhoods glimmered with those little golden porch lights; they already lit up for the incoming night.

Stone wound through the deserted freeway up towards Capitol Hill; I peered out the window at Mount Rainier as it slid back into the curtain of misty clouds. I thought back to that picture Chris sent me of him with Rainier. I had to smile at the thought of it.

And I kept my smile upon my face as we took the first exit into the neighborhood. I rolled down the window to check for the smell of lemons.

“Where's it at?” Stone asked me with a peer over his shoulder. I sniffed the air in search for that pungent aroma when I caught it at a stoplight.

“Up ahead!” I called out to him.

When the light turned green, we pulled ahead to the right side of the curb and the low intimate lit building, and the two guys standing out front with their hands in their pockets. Once we came to a halt, I recognized Joey, but the guy next to him stood at a little shorter stature. His smooth hair sprawled down around his shoulders and accentuated his round, full moon like face. Even in the dark, like the lilies next to me, I made out the sight of his green eyes, as fresh and green as spearmint straight out of Denmark.

“Lars?” I called out.

He gave his fine hair a gentle toss back from his shoulder and then he padded over to the car to help me out. Reluctantly, I climbed out and turned to Dave in the passenger side of the car.

“Shall we come back later?” he offered me with a little smile on his face; little enough to show a bit of teeth.

“If you'd like,” I assured him; “I'd have to show you where it is, though.”

“Not a problem,” he replied. “Not a problem at all.” I patted on the rooftop and stepped back so they could drive straight ahead to the next stop light. I turned to Joey and Lars, the former of whom put his arm around me.

“I'm sure you know about the amazing Lars,” he told me.

“Know about? Lars rocks!”

He showed me a friendly smile as he reached into his jeans pocket.

“Joey was just talking about you to me.” His Danish accent crept over me like a cool breeze. “I'd love to see something you made and I am sure he would, too. And after that nice little compliment, may I say that you have good taste—care for some gum?” He showed me a pack of spearmint gum. I had already finished my lemonade.

“Yeah, sure—thank you.” I took a piece for myself; once I had the strip inside of my mouth, I turned my attention to the former speakeasy next to us.

“So what is this place?”

“It's like a—pub slash art—studio—gallery—thing,” Lars explained. “A hybrid if you will. I came up here to do some important work and I remembered Joey was up here, too. I met him here and we got to talking—and now here we are.”

“Let's have a look see, shall we?” Joey offered as he reached for the door handle. We were in fact met with that pungent but fresh aroma of lemons from the inside there. On the right stood a low polished stone bar with a few black metal stools. To the left was a stretch of a floor and some graffiti type paintings mounted on the wall. This whole place reeked of the decade before then.

“I have faith we can bring this place back,” Lars told me. “Will did buy out this place after all. I am confident he will be on board with it, too. We can in fact bring this place back.”

“We?” I asked him.

“Yes.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “I have not even seen your work, Holly, but I can tell you that you will be the main focus of attention. Seattle and most major cities across the country have fallen to their knees. They need the arts to salvage and return them to their roots.”

Suddenly, I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. I walked into this place innocent and yet hearing that gave a whole new meaning to my work. It wasn't long ago I felt wary of sharing my work with anyone. I still had yet to make a drawing of Joey.

“But I would have to share something with you guys, though,” I pointed out.

“That ain't no prahblem,” Joey assured me with a little flick of his disheveled jet black ringlets. I peered up at him and the burgeoning lopsided smile on his face.

“What's that look for?” I asked him.

“We are in a studio,” Lars told me with an eager look upon his face; I examined more closely at the fine fuzz forming along the underside of his chin. “There are in fact stools in here—do you see where I'm going with this?”

I returned my attention to Joey and those wiry black curls perched atop his head like a crown.

“Well,” I began, “it is hard to find a nice picture of you.”

“The shit you say,” he retorted.

“It's true. Remember what I said when we were in the park together? I meant that.” Joey showed me a shy little smile, to which he accompanied it with his thumbs in his jeans pockets.

“Shall I set things up?” Lars volunteered.

“I don't see why not,” I told him. Joey then slid away so as to prepare himself. I watched Lars pick up one of the stools at the bar; he held the seat of it up towards his chest and turned his attention to me.

“Lonely being an artist, isn't it?” he whispered to me, to which I nibbled on my bottom lip. I nodded my head at him.

“Especially now,” I confessed to him. He shook his head.

“I get it. I totally get it. We're all lonely and in need of connection, especially all of us in the music business right now. It's one thing when you're on tour and away from home—it's a completely different deal now.”

I followed him over to the center of the room, right before a red splatter painting that reminded me of Jackson Pollack. He gave his smooth hair another toss before he turned to me while rigorously chewing that piece of gum.

“Would you like my number?” he offered. “You can talk to me about anything if you'd like.”

“Sure!” I took out my phone.

A ghost text from Chris. I didn't even feel it. But he would have to wait, though: I was about to have Lars' number on me now.


	5. Chapter 5

The minty flavor of the piece of gum coated my throat and my nose with a nice cool feeling. Lars lingered right next to me with his hands stuffed in his pockets: there was a clanking noise in the back room behind us and I wondered who was back there as Joey made his way to the center of the room to have a seat on the stool. But he stood there for a moment so as to strip off his jacket. He lay it over the top of the back of the stool and then he turned to us.

He unbuttoned his jeans to show off the sun kissed skin on his slender waist. I swallowed down my nervousness as I watched him lift up the hem of his shirt: his stomach was slim and toned, almost elegant. Skinny and smooth like the body of a lizard.

He peeled off his shirt and poked his head out at me: his jet black curls tousled over the crown of his head and down onto his shoulder. Joey rolled up his shirt and put it on the top of the table next to him. I swallowed again as I examined his slender, svelte little body once he took his seat there on the stool with his legs spread apart. He was almost delicate looking: there was not a blemish one on that body and the fabric of his snug jeans hugged his thighs and his hips, which in turn made them look a lot more shapely. The loose waist band of his jeans cradled his waist so as to make it appear softer and a little thicker and fuller than normal. His oval face looked a little rounder with his curls and ringlets tossed over his shoulder and his brown eyes softened at the very sight of me.

I knew he was already quite handsome, but standing there next to Lars and watching him pose for me made me think twice about my opinion of him.

I could easily say that Joey was gorgeous. So gorgeous in fact that my face grew warm at the sight of him. So gorgeous in fact that I wondered how I was going to do this with just my pencil and the intimate lighting of the room around us.

There was a part of me that wanted to touch him, but that thought retracted once a black man stumbled into the room right then. He had a thick but short afro atop his head and large, tired looking dark eyes, and smooth creamy looking skin, and yet he looked as though he had just woken up. The collar of his shirt had been yanked off to one side.

I knew it was William and I knew he was here to check on us. And yet I tried to not let him distract me from the sight before me. He and Lars congregated next to me in respective silence.

The graphite in the three pencils was soft and malleable, perfect for Joey's dark skin and jet black curls. The hardest of the three proved the best for his face, the smaller strands of hair around the outside of his face, his fingers, and the little fledgling hairs covering his chest. I kept my eyes glued onto him for the most part. I needed to get it right. I needed to draw this boy, not just for myself, but for him as well.

“Quite the excellent model if I do say so myself,” Lars noted at one point.

Even sitting there with the pad before me, it almost felt as if I was touching his body, touching and caressing him from his slender sinewy ankles all the way up the sides of his slim legs, to his shapely hips and his little belly, to his deep chest and down his arms. I was feeling this soft little boy, feeling every inch of him with the mere stroking of the pencils; feeling every inch of him... and wanting to come close to him. To actually feel him and hold him and love him. To give him the love that he so desperately needs.

But I didn't want to think that. I didn't want to have those thoughts about him. I liked Chris and I didn't want anyone else with me and texting me every morning besides him.

But there was no denying the feeling as I shaded in Joey's black ringlets. There was no denying it as Lars peeked over my shoulder and grinned at the sight there on the paper.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"She's the one that keeps the dream alive  
>  from the morning, past the evening,  
> to the end of the light."_  
> -"Brimful of Asha", Cornershop  
> ("EVERYBODY NEEDS A BOSOM FOR A PILLOW)

William leaned over the top of the table to check on the drawing for himself. He folded his arms across his chest and put his face close up to mine, so close in fact I could smell his soft but spicy cologne.

“Wow,” he breathed out as though he was seeing the roof of the Sistine Chapel, even though it was just a drawing of Joey. I glanced up at my model; the first thing I could see was his deep chest and the sprigs of hair growing from in between his nipples. My phone buzzed once again in my pocket; I was going to have to take a break to reply to Chris at some point. I was also going to have to take a break from drawing, too, as Joey's slender body had these weird shadows to it. I knew it came from his dark sun kissed skin, and the fact his hair had so many curls to it.

But then I turned my head to William and the tight corkscrews making up the hair upon the crown of his head gave me another opinion. I fluttered my eyelids at him and he pointed his brown eyes at me, and showed me a kind little smile.

“You must be the owner here,” I said to him.

“I am,” he replied with a nudging of a lock of hair off of his forehead. “And it's an honor to have an artist here with me.”

“Let's just say Will feels more of a patron than Joseph does here,” Lars joked.

“How's he doin', by the way?” William called over to him.

“Doin' alright,” Joey replied with a clearing of his throat. “My nose itches—my crotch does, too.”

“Well, hang tight for another couple minutes,” I scoffed, “I've gotta add my magic to this drawing here.”

“What kinda magic?” asked William.

I peered up at Joey and those long curled tendrils down over his collar bones and his slender shoulders. His last name was Belladonna, as in the poison plant. A poison plant with black and violet flowers; all I knew was those flowers caused the kind of surrealist hallucinations that those of us left, those of us who survived the pandemic, would not only know of the caliber but embrace it with open arms. _Belladonna atropa_ , I think it's called. Deadly nightshade.

Deadly like the darkness of night and the darkness of those emotive brown eyes.

I peered about the room.

“Do you have any flowers in here?” I asked William. He hesitated for a moment before he shook his head.

“I do have a picture on my phone, though,” he suggested; he reached into his pocket for his phone. I watched him unlock the screen and then open up the photos section. He flicked through until he reached a photograph of some five petal flowers against some sage brush. Flowers out in the desert that were also purple by mere circumstance.

“How 'bout these? I'd used to see some weird plants back home in D.C., but one time during the really worst part of the pandemic, I was driving through the eastern Sierra down in California, and I spotted these.”

“What are they?” I wondered aloud.

“No idea. But I spotted them when I stopped to stretch my legs. I thought they were cool looking.”

He set down his phone to allow me to better examine them.

“Can I move now?” Joey asked me.

“Yeah, move and scratch yourself, big mamba,” I told him in an absent tone.

“That's big _way_ to you,” he teased me. The stool squeaked as he climbed off and I sketched those flowers on his shoulders and his chest, right above where I drew his nipples. My phone buzzed yet again.

“Someone's trying to contact you,” Lars pointed out, to which I caught a huge whiff of his gum and it almost made my eyes water.

“Yeah, it's—it's a friend of mine. Hang on, man—I'm almost done here.”

“You're almost done with me,” Joey chuckled to himself, and Lars chuckled at that.

I finished up a few more flowers on Joey's slim knobby knees.

“Joey Belladonna atropa,” I named this one.

I finally put down the pencil and reached into my pocket to find Chris had texted me four times and called once. I let out a low whistle, and William turned his head to look back at me.

“Is it bad?” he asked me.

“Nah, just—incessant.” I scrawled my name at the bottom of the page and then took a step back to address this.

Two of the messages consisted of “are you there?” to which I replied, “yeah, I was just busy.”

“I called you, though,” he replied back.

“Yeah, but I had my hands full of Joey, though,” I said. “A brimful of Joey.”

“Joey?”

“Joey Belladonna. The singer from Anthrax.”

“Oh, him!”

There was a pause. And then—

“Wait, what?”

“Here—”

I took a picture and then sent it to him. I took another picture with Joey himself over it and holding his hands over it as if presenting the wine of the gods.

Chris replied back, “oh, wow. Did he model for you?”

“Like a good boy. Me, him, and the two other guys here—Lars and Will—we all wanna save the arts here in Seattle.”

“That's what Stone and Dave told me,” he texted back. “I mean, with the pandemic having ravaged everything, we don't have much choice but to rebuild now do we?”

“Of course. How're those plants?”

“Excellent! I'd take a pic but my camera decided to go kaput on me.”

“Aw! Oh, well.”

“Maybe I should model for you. Model for you with these lilies around me like those flowers around him.”

“Maybe that's a good idea, Christopher,” I teased him, and with nothing more, I put the phone back into my pocket. Lars gave his hair a gentle toss back and looked on at me like a prince.

“You look like you wanna tell me something,” I said to him.

“While you were texting, Will and I suggested you do the same job for the both of us.”

I gaped at him, and I gaped at him so hard that my gum almost fell out of my mouth.

“You wanna take your clothes off and pose for me like this boy here?” I demanded.

“Exactly!” Lars replied.

“Let's get this one mounted, though,” William offered.

“Have at it,” I told him with a smile.

While he was attending to that, I turned to Joey who showed me a sweet humble little smile.

“You're a natural,” I told him.

“So are you,” he retorted; and I swore he winked at me when he said that.

“You've got a nice body, though. Nice and streamlined—muscular but toned. Like an actual Indian.” As soon as I said that, I thought of Chris and his nice little body underneath those sweaters and those coats. I wondered if he was in fact being serious in his suggestion.

He shrugged.

“That's what happens when yer a hockey player—you're gonna get nice an' toned.” He showed me a lopsided grin and the little gap on the right side of his teeth. I began to wonder about Lars and William now, especially when the former assisted in mounting that drawing and I caught a glimpse of his hips and his thick waist.

I was in fact going to go places with these boys, even in the ashes of everything.


	7. Chapter 7

Lars was something else for me: I think it had to do with the fact that his body was softer and rounder than Joey's slim and trim figure, and thus the lights in the room clung onto his physique a bit differently from his. His hair streamed down around his collar bones and onto his bare chest, and his jeans clung in loose fashion around his hips. They wanted me to stay here to draw both him and William, and I did my best to convince Chris that I was just drawing and I swore I did not ignore him every time he sent me another text.

Unlike Joey, Lars' chest had a fine film of hair down the middle, one which led down the front and middle of his stomach and towards his thick waist. His body looked toned and yet stout at the same time: where I wanted to run my fingers through Joey's jet black curls and caress his chest down, there was a part of me that wanted to run up to Lars and blow raspberries onto his belly. It didn't help matters that he had seated himself with his left foot on the edge of the seat to accentuate his waist and the back of his left thigh.

Since I had nothing more than the artificial lights in the building there, the darkness hugged his body, perhaps more so than with the curvatures of Joey's body.

A lanky beautiful boy with a shade of darkness over him to a fuller, more shapely boy with brilliant green eyes to top off everything there.

Quite the contrast and therefore some more control on the graphite.

His hair was easier to draw, too: Joey's tight corkscrews had far more darkness in comparison to Lars' smooth soft looking streaks.

There was something within me, something that burned upon sight of that smooth skin. Smooth like melted butter.

Joey was a cup of coffee on an upstate New York sunrise; Lars was a breath of fresh air straight from Scandinavia. The former made me wonder what was underneath those snug jeans and about the texture of that black hair; the latter made me wonder about the feel of his skin.

The silky smooth feel of the skin on his arms and his shoulders.

It was almost as if I didn't need to put down graphite for the skin on his upper arms and his shoulders. Almost: I put down a light coat of graphite with the edge of the pencil tip and then used a napkin courtesy of Joey himself.

He and William lingered on either side of me and watched me draw Lars. William glanced up every so often to check on Lars' position and made sure he stayed in a single place there on the spindly chair.

Joey, meanwhile, seemed more entranced by my drawing. He rested the edge of his chin in the palm of his hand and watched me put down graphite on the paper. He lingered a little too close to me at times, too: when I reached Lars' crotch, he brought his face about an inch from mine, so out of the corner of my eye, I kept seeing the tip of his nose and the edges of his lips and I swore it was a bat flying for my head.

Before the pandemic, I loved bats, and after the pandemic, I still loved bats. Innocent creatures being blamed for something so godawful and yet they just so happened to be there, like Joey's nose. Before I knew it, I had finished the drawing of Lars, complete with a little kiss of soft green for his eyes, soft green from a colored pencil lent to me from the back room there in the building.

I had two drawings to explain to Chris and to my parents when I returned home.

That is, once I had the third one in succession finished.

William, or Will as he wanted me to call him, suggested posing with his back to the wall and with a bowl of oranges cradled in his lap, except nowhere to be found was a bowl of oranges. There was however, a big silvery mixing bowl in the back room.

He took his seat there on the stool and put his bare feet up on the rung of the chair.

“I grew up kind of as a punk rocker of sorts,” he told me as I observed the tight coils of the black hair about his head. So I went from coarse corkscrews as black as ink, to a fine sheet of hair, to frizzy fuzzy curls making up the roots of an incoming afro. I also went from sun kissed toned skin to milky smooth skin to skin as dark as night.

“Oh, really?” I raised my eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, down in Atlanta.”

“Something tells me you could use some hella bright colors with this drawing here.”

“Would you?”

“I'll take a picture and then work some digital magic on this,” I assured him.

“Alright! Kinda mix it up a bit.”

“Right! But that's badass, though—a black boy being a punk rocker.”

“Hell, yeah, and it was a time before I met up with Alice in Chains, of course.”

“And before the pandemic, too, I presume.”

“Oh, of course! You know, when I found those flowers in the Owens Valley, I was on tour with the band previous to them—Comes With the Fall.”

“Comes?” I teased him as I eyed the bowl in between his legs.

“Comes, right.” He showed me a lopsided little grin, more lopsided than Joey's smile. He had a little twinkle in his eye which remained there in those brown irises every time I glanced up at him from the paper. Joey continued to watch me while Lars joined in to the right of me.

I wondered about Dave and Stone and if they brought some more flowers to Chris, and I wondered what flowers Chris had asked for. My phone buzzed again as I reached the bowl in between Will's legs.

He would have to wait. I'm sorry, Chris, but I have my hands full of Will this time now. At least he knew about Joey; I had no idea how he would react to Will.

Like with the dark skin on Joey's body and the soft edges of Lars' body, I used the edge of the pencil to shade in Will's skin. Like Joey, he was quite toned and slim and lovely, but more so from the punk rock life instead of playing hockey and hard drumming. At one point, I glanced over at the black Chuck Taylors parked there on the hard floor next to him. The punk rock life for all of us here in the aftermath of the pandemic to make us all as lovely as possible.

I shaded enough of his dark skin but not too much so the digital work wouldn't make it too murky. I also figured the computer would do a better job of the shine on the bowl as well.

“Remarkable,” Lars breathed in amazement.

“You've got the Midas touch,” Joey followed up with a turn of his head.

“You guys should it once I run it through the digital side of life,” I vowed to them; out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Will moving the bowl out from between his thighs. The space between his thighs. Even out of the corner of my eye, I could make out the shape of his crotch.

A part of me wanted to go a little further with these three boys here: I knew I would have to come a little closer with the three of them before I made them strip down and show off even more skin for me.

My phone buzzed again, that time as I took it out of my pocket.

I didn't even realize the time: almost midnight! But I also needed to charge it up before I did anything more than take a photo of the drawing of Will. I took a photo of the drawing of Joey and the one of Lars as well. You never know if the digital work could work out with them, too.

“I think I need a ride back home,” I told Lars as I stuffed my dying phone back into my pocket and I had no idea if Stone and Dave had returned home for the night.

“Not a problem!” he assured me with a grin and that little piece of gum in between his teeth. And yet I knew I would have to text Chris back once my phone had some juice in it and as soon as possible otherwise I would become the bad guy.


	8. Chapter 8

“Thank you for the ride home, Lars,” I said as I climbed out of the car. Will had told him to borrow his car in order to take me back home to Tacoma; Will himself meanwhile remained back at the speak easy with Joey. It was after midnight by the time Lars had arrived at my parents' place.

“It is my greatest pleasure,” he told me as he gave me a sly lopsided grin and a whiff of that minty gum. Even in the darkness, those green irises glimmered and sparkled like the mint flavor of the gum. “Shall we meet up again soon?”

“I'd love to!” I declared. “I'm not doin' much of anything tomorrow so—come on over and I'll introduce you to my parents.”

He winked at me and blew me a kiss, and then I closed the passenger door. I headed up the walkway and slipped in through the front door. My parents had already gone to bed, and I knew I would have to explain it come the morning, but for the time being, I needed to plug in my phone and hit up Chris again.

I sidled into my bedroom and opened my phone. I sent a message to him in hopes to smooth things over after that evening.

I set down my phone on my nightstand and stripped off my jacket and my jeans when the phone went off again. I reached behind me to check it: I stood there in my underwear and my socks as I checked the screen.

“What took you so long,” Chris had replied back to me with. I rolled my eyes and chuckled at him; I stood there in the middle of the floor in order to text back to him.

“I told you, I was busy.”

“Get busy, baby.”

“Get busy with what?”

“It.”

“What's it?”

“IT!” he wrote in all caps.

“Ah, you just wanna see me with either Joey or Lars, don't ya?”

“I don't, I don't,” he insisted.

“Well, what was that then?” I demanded with a grin on my face.

“I was sayin' to get busy with the art thing,” he clarified.

“Hence, you wanna see with either Joey or Lars,” I quipped. “You wanna see some flowers blossom.”

“I wanna see some flowers blossom and give it a bit o' tongue,” he retorted, to which I gasped and felt my face grow warm.

“Chris!” I laughed out loud.

“What?” he replied with a smirk.

“That's not what I meant,” I scoffed at him.

“What did you mean?” he hit back.

“I was talking about using Dave and Stone's plants as references for the next round of coloring. I wasn't talking about—that.”

“Wait a minute, you started it.”

“No, I didn't!” I couldn't help but laugh some more.

“Yes, you did! You started it! You said something about getting together with Jory and Lars.”

“Joey.”

“Huh?”

“His name is Joey, not Jory. And I was teasing you.”

“Ah, you wanna play that game, don't you.”

“What game?”

“You wanna tease me.”

“Maybe…” I shuffled my feet on the carpet. I glanced down at them, surrounded by those colorful stripes making up the soft fabric. I wiggled my toes: I had seen three guys naked and ventured into a brand new garden with two more. I was about to get down over the phone with another one.

“You know—I'm in my undies right now,” I told him as I took a seat on the edge of my bed.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My undies and my socks… and just a T-shirt, too.”

As soon as I hit send on that, I received another text.

“Hey, Holly, are you still up?” Will!

“Yeah, what's up?”

“Joey gave me your number—I'm taking him and Lars back to my place for the night. The two of us are waiting for Lars to get back, so we just wanted to tell you good night if you're not in bed already.” He followed it up with a little kiss at the end of the message.

“Aw, thank you. And good night to you boys, too. My models.” I followed it up with two little yellow hearts.

A reply from Chris. I opened it up.

“Care to share a pic?”

“You want me to take a picture of myself for you?”

“...if it's not too much trouble?”

I fetched up a sigh but I still set the phone on my nightstand on its end and pointed it towards me. I set the timer on the camera and on the send button, and then I leaned back against the wall. I pushed the button and held still for a moment.

It sent.

I waited a moment until Chris hit me back again.  
“So?”

“So what?”

“Did you fall asleep?”

“No. Did you get it?”

“No.”

“I took a pic, though,” I insisted.

“Didn't get a ring or anything,” he said.

“Huh. Let me try again—”

I leaned back again and pushed the button and waited. It sent. Another moment. And then—

“Oh, my,” he replied. “Oh, me.”

“You like it?”

“So simple and yet—oh, man.”

I still remained quiet about my age, and I wanted to have fun with it.

“I'm thinking of taking a shower,” I said to him.

“Oh, mannnn—don't fall!”

I actually wasn't going to take a shower until the morning, but I wanted to see his reaction to that, especially since it was late and I felt like falling asleep right there in my T-shirt, my panties, and my socks. But then, as I was about to take off my shirt and my bra, I got another ring from the phone.

I figured maybe it was Chris hitting me back for a kiss good night.

“You tryin' ta give the dog a bone?”

And then I realized I accidentally sent the first picture to Joey.

I froze in place with the screen of the phone right in my face. I didn't know what to say to him right then, other than the obvious “it's not what it looks like!” but what was done was done. My heart leapt into my throat and butterflies whirred up inside of my stomach. I nibbled on my bottom lip as the phone buzzed again.

“I'm gonna tell Anthrax about you,” he teased me; I could envision that sly lopsided grin of his. “And then we're gonna spread the word about you to Tom and Dave, too—unless Lars has done it already. And when I say that, I mean how amazing you are.”

Moreover, I read that in his voice. It got me thinking right then: I wondered what Chris' voice sounded like when he was turned on by the sight of me earlier. I also started to wonder what Joey's voice sounded like in the same context. Two boys with long beautiful jet black curls and incredible voices.

I set my phone back down on the nightstand so I could change my clothes and spit out the now used-up piece of gum Lars gave me, but I decided to crawl into bed in nothing more than my panties and my socks. I fell asleep within mere seconds of setting my head on top of the pillow.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my phone going off. I rolled over to pick up my phone again to find that usual message, like clockwork no less.

“Good morning, Hollywood,” Chris greeted me.

“Good morning, Corn man,” I replied, and he pinged me back with a laughing face. I opened the photo folder and checked the one of Mount Rainier he had sent me before. It took me a moment to realize that the snowy slopes of Mount Rainier reminded me of something from Georgia O'Keeffe. The fact the mountain had a bunch of bright and bold colors made me think of one of her paintings. The ridges and folds juxtaposed underneath him made me wonder some more about that particular picture.

I was about to write back to him when the phone went off again. I opened up the message to find Joey had sent me something.

“Hey, hi, what's up, what's going on?” he sputtered, like he was nervous.

“I—I just kinda—forgot.”

“Forgot about what?” he asked, nonplussed.

“Forgot to get back to you,” I clarified. “I saw your messages this morning. I fell asleep when I got home.”

“Oh, it's okay!” he assured me. “Really. It is.”

“So—you really wanna tell your band mates about me?”

“I do! You're amazing, Hollywood. The bunch of us might wanna do some dealings and shit with you.”

“Oh, yeah?” I raised my eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, Charlie and Frankie went ape shit over the drawing of me that you did, Charlie did especially.”

I wondered if he was going to mention the picture I sent him by accident in between his telling me what happened earlier.

“They don't know if they're gonna come up here, though,” he continued. “So... as far as we know, we might just do this whole thing over messages and whatnot.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip.

I was laying in bed and with the blankets over my otherwise naked body. The only piece of clothing was my underwear. Laying in bed and texting two boys.

My phone buzzed again.

“Good morning, _min kære_.” It was Lars.

“What'd you call me?” I teased him.

“That's Danish for 'my darling',” he replied.

“Oh, so we're going that far, aren't we?” I teased him.

“Yes, we are!” he retorted. “You have good taste, Miss. I hope I am not intruding.”

“Not at all! I was about to get out of bed and have breakfast.”

“Go eat up, love,” he told me, to which he accompanied it with an “xo” at the end. “I should introduce you to an authentic European breakfast. You know those nutritional columns on the sides of food cartons here in the U.S.?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“That right there—a European breakfast—would go off the charts.”

I pictured Lars eating up a European breakfast, whatever that was, and eating to his heart's desire.

“Go right to the heart!” I teased him.

“Right to the heart and to the love of the stomach,” he retorted, to which he followed it up with a wink.

“I might get some breakfast,” I told Joey.

“I'm about to, too!” he said. “Big ass stack of waffles with butter and blueberries.” I pictured that slim belly of his feeling extra full of waffles and berries, and there was something quaint about that image. So quaint I thought about drawing it in my sketchbook. These boys I drew the night before eating a bunch of food and getting their bodies nice and relaxed…

I rubbed my eyes and sat upright in the bed with the phone in my lap. I thought about texting Chris back but then again, I needed something to eat. I slid out from underneath the covers to fetch some clothes and take to the kitchen. I set the phone back on the nightstand and I decided to leave it there for the time being.

My mom put on a pot of coffee and proceeded to make herself an omelet. She showed me a smile once I padded onto the linoleum in my bare feet.

“So what happened last night?” she asked me.

“I was hangin' out with some friends and making some drawings,” I promptly replied; I thought about what Joey told me prior to then. “I think—I think, anyways—I can do some commission work.”

“Oh, good! I was hoping you would go far with your work, baby.” She put her arm around me and kept the smile upon her face. I wondered if the boys were willing to keep things under wraps, especially since I wasn't eighteen as of yet. But then again, it might have been my own imagination and my own post pandemic paranoia doing the trick. But it was still necessary to keep things a secret between me and them.


	9. Chapter 9

I had considered showing off my drawings of the boys to my mom, but I knew that if I did that, I would have to justify the stories behind them. Another after effect of the pandemic: having to explain things to everyone, even when it seems so intrinsic to me in particular. I knew I would have to return to Seattle at some point to fetch those drawings and figure out as to how I wanted to mount them in the walls of that former speakeasy. If it was going to be all about me, I had no choice but to tell my parents about it, especially since I told my mom that I made some commissions. They would have to see them at some point.

They would have to see the boys in their full frontal glory.

I lay on my back on the couch with my phone over my head. I texted Chris a little bit and he said something about me doing what I did with the three of them but with him instead.

“You know I would love to do that for you,” he said to me.

“And I would love to see you,” I retorted to him.

“Well…”

“Well what?”

There was a pause and I thought his phone died when he hit me back.

“I just kinda... wish you would strip for me instead.”

“Who, me?” I asked him.

“I mean—Holly, if I'm honest—I'm a little jealous that you got to see them first, rather than... you know, the two of us seeing each other.”

“Well, I've gotta be willing to see you first,” I told him as I chose my words with care; I daren't tell him yet that I was still seventeen. “And then I'll show my private parts to you. And by seeing you, I mean having you pose for me.”

“So no pics of my dick?” he said, to which I stifled a snicker.

“No, I would have to actually see your dick so I can draw it and make it look good and nice and nice and good.”

“I should send you one of these lilies that Dave and Stone brought me. We should bond via lilies and art and stuff.”

“Aren't we already?”

As soon as I hit send, the phone rang. I sat upright and hurried off of the couch and towards my room.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Holly?”

“Hey, Will!” I declared as I turned my back to the doorway. “How are things up there?”

“Absolutely beautiful—Lars and I wanna know when you're coming up here again.”

“I don't really know,” I confessed to him. “I hope soon because I have to check out those drawings.”

“Yeah, that's what we both wanna ask you,” he pointed out. “The both of us are kind of reticent to mount these ourselves. We need an aesthetic eye to do it. A good aesthetic eye.”

I flashed on his posing for me. Such nice smooth dark skin, like a fresh cup of black coffee on a cool, humid morning in the outskirts of Atlanta. There was a part of me that wanted to take the photo I had saved on my phone and inject some neon into it for a bit of an extra punk look. Never in my life did I think I would have four absolutely beautiful boys on paper for my taking and for my sharing in the speakeasy.

I had no idea how to answer Will's question so I made up some kind of bullshit response to him. Something about getting back to him soon enough before he knew it; I couldn't recall it even once we hung up at the same time.

I retrieved that photograph and plugged it into my computer. I took out my drawing tablet, one which came with a black stylus that resembled to a pencil, and put the drawing underneath all of the bells and whistles that came with the thing. I kept picturing neon, lots of bright colors, like bright blue and hot pink and neon green.

I gave his whole body a good thick dark outline like one of the cartoons from Hanna Barbera's catalogue. I never realized how lush of a tone and rich of a sheen there was to his dark skin. I was so engrossed by enhancing the drawing that I never heard the new text there on my phone.

Joey texted me a picture of himself wearing what I thought was a crown of red and white feathers to which he accompanied with a slight pucker of his lips.

I wanted to tell him that it was a mistake of me to send him that picture. It was a mistake. A mishap on my part. A mishap that I had no idea about until much after the fact. I wanted Chris for myself and I wanted to make that clear to Joey himself.

But then again, he had those deep dark eyes and that nice slim body. Like Will, he was quite nice to draw after all with that smooth dark skin. He was so kind to me, kinder to me than even Chris—he bought me lemonade for crying out loud. But I was more sure of Chris than anything. He always hit me up in the mornings.

Joey struck me as bit of a tease, a flirt, and it was especially the case after the incident with that accidental photo, too. I knew he was playing with me so I wanted play back with him.

“You know, I really liked drawing your chest,” I finally told him over a new response, which came once I had finished the drawing of Will and saved it.

“Oh, do ya now?” he teased me.

“Yeah, you have a very nice shape to your chest. So smooth and toned and with a bit of a round shape to it—your skin makes it even nicer if I do say so myself.”

“You know what else is smooth and toned and with a bit of a round shape to it? Your own chest.”

“Joey!” I blushed a bit.

“What? It's a compliment.”

“That's quite the compliment,” I told him as my fingers quivered a bit; I needed something to eat.

“I just can't stop thinking about that picture you sent me last night.”

I refrained from telling him that it was on accident because I wanted to see where he was going with this.

“I bet you can't,” I played along with him.

“I keep wanting to look at it so I can see how gorgeous you are. I mean, just watching you draw was enough for me to realize that but after seeing that… god, Holly, you really are a lovely person.”

I hesitated with the pads of my thumbs over the touch screen of the phone. I was not expecting that. If anything, I was expecting something a little more like that of Chris: unabashed and in a way that caught me offguard so as to make me laugh. But Joey's response left me feeling a bit soft instead. He brought a smile to my face, much like how Will did.

“You really are a lovely person that makes me wonder more 'bout you,” he continued. “I wanna do something with you some time.”

“Like what?” I asked him.

“Maybe something to eat and—a movie back at the place I'm stayin' at right now. If push comes to shove, I might just wanna take you back upstate with me.”

“Would you?”

“If push comes to shove, anyway. I have to see more of what lies underneath the Hollywood sign.”

My mind raced for a response to that. I wanted Chris but there was something about Joey. There was something about Will and Lars, too. I needed to get to know Will a little better before things happened more between us.

“I might have to send you a li'l something,” Joey continued. “What's your address?”

“What do you wanna send me?”

“Well, I dunno… something a li'l all natural like how the bunch of us all are.”

It was right then I knew what he would be sending me. I didn't want to do this, but if it was to keep him at bay, then so be it. I would have to do it once I told him my address.


	10. Chapter 10

My fingers quivered and quaked from the nervous tension but I was in fact able to dial Stone's number. I brought the phone up to my ear.

“Hey, golden age of Hollywood,” he greeted me in a jovial tone. Even though it had been a couple of days, it was nice to hear his voice again. It was especially nice to hear his voice over the phone as he sounded much happier and not as exhausted as he did that evening when I met him and Dave.

“Hey, Stone, can I ask you a favor?” I started in a soft voice.

“Sure—why are you whispering, though?”

“It's a secret,” I assured him.

“Okay,” he lowered his voice to that of a low husky whisper.

“I want you to—not sell Joey flowers if he asks for them.”

“Why?”

My mind raced for the right answer. I was already in too deep. If there was another thing the pandemic taught me, it was the power of a lie.

“He's allergic to a few species,” I replied.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I forget which ones he said, but yeah—he's pretty allergic. Like painfully so. You know—it's the pollen out here. It's radically different from that in upstate New York.”

“Oh, I bet it is. I never would've thought of that, if I'm honest. But, it sounds strange given how Dave and I have planted the seeds and made them come alive and whatnot. We try to make it so the pollen won't be so territorial, if you will…” He cleared his throat. “...but I guess if Chris can be allergic to a certain chrysanthemum we’ve bred, then I s’pose anything’s possible with our gardening. I kinda like Joey, too, he sounds like a cool guy...” And then I heard a soft beep on his end.

“Oh, wait, hang tight, Holly. I'm getting another call. Can I hit you back in a few minutes?”

“Absolutely,” I told him as I felt my throat close up. He switched lines, which in turn left me in total silence.

“What have I done,” I muttered to myself. But I wanted to see where we would go from there. I wanted to see what Stone would do and I wanted to see what Joey would do. I nibbled on my bottom lip and tried to calm my nerves but it was almost useless.

The line crackled back on.

“Holly? You still there?”

“Yeah, I never left.”

“That was in fact Joey—he wants to send you some new pencils.”

I opened my mouth but no sound came out.

“He told me he tried calling you but the line was busy. He called me because Lars said about me being an art guy myself.”

“Oh, you are?”

“Yeah. I’m not nearly as big on it as him, but I'm definitely there, though. But yeah, Joey said he'll send you something nice and perfect for any new pieces of art because he wants you to have it. He saw a box of graphites and he thought of you. His words, not mine.” My heart skipped a couple of beats and I could feel the butterflies whirring up inside of my stomach.

This was just one thing.

Not even a couple of hours later, while I was at my computer and doing some doodles to acquaint myself with character movement, Chris called me.

“Holly—I'm at the Blick store right now. I found some ink pens and I was thinking of you doing some pen and ink kinda stuff.”

“Like, black ink or colored?”

“Black. Like you could start there and then work your way towards color. You know, help you experiment and stuff.”

“You just want me to draw you in black ink,” I teased him with an accompanying snicker.

He let out a huff of a sigh.

“Okay, fine, you caught me.”

I giggled at that.

And then once I hung up the phone, Joey called me.

“Hey, hi—did Stone tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“About the—the thing I wanna give ya, the graphites.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Yes! Well, let me just say, I—” He cleared his throat. “—I hope you like them. I gotta tell ya, Hahlls—I did what I did to get 'em for you.”

I parted my lips but no sound came out at that.

I thought about what I had told Stone to do for me and I wondered if Joey knew at all. Or perhaps he was just being sweet and I opened a stupid loophole behind his back. Either way, I had no other choice but to ruminate on what I did for a bit. I saved the drawing and closed the laptop, and lay down on my bed for a moment and gazed up at the ceiling.

Maybe I just jumped the gun. Joey wanted to do something kind for me, much like how Chris wanted to do something kind for me. I also thought about hitting back Will with the prospect of heading on back up there so as to share my aesthetic eye as he described it.

I definitely jumped the gun, especially when there was a knock on the front door and the sound of it jarred me out of my daydream.

“I'll get it!” my dad called out. I froze in place. I pictured either Joey, Chris, or Will there at the front step and I knew I would have to come clean with my parents right then. I pursed my lips together as I heard the door swing open in the next room.

I closed my eyes and held my breath.

“Holly?” my dad called out. I opened my eyes and found myself face to face with the cottage cheese overhead.

“Holly, something came for you!”

I let out a low whistle and rolled off of the bed. I padded into the next room to find him holding a brand new metallic box of graphite pencils in hand. Nice graphite pencils, the kind that rich people before the pandemic could buy without a moment's hesitation. And the kit that came with a pair of erasers, a pure white one and a kneaded one, plus a pencil sharpener, even though I had no shortage on those.

He scraped to get them, I just knew it, especially once I remembered how he spent on that lemonade for me. I regretted sending Stone that request.

“Who's it from?” asked my mom.

“No idea. I heard the knock on the door and then I looked out and these were laying on our doormat.”

She entered the room from the kitchen and showed me a smile.

“Aw, sounds like Holly's got a secret admirer,” she remarked. “They were kind enough to get her the real deal.”

“Yeah, they—they were,” I added in a soft voice. He handed me the box with a lopsided smile, much like Joey's smile and with the same warmth as Chris. I held the tin before me and stroked the top of the lid with the pad of my thumb. I expected the same to happen with Chris within time; but in the meantime, all I could do was head back to my room to try out the pencils for myself.

But at the same time, I wondered if this was the beginning of something else, aside from Chris. He would be the one to send me flowers and shower me with gifts, whereas Joey did it whenever he could and also because he wanted to do it. He wanted me to have it, as Stone said. He did it because he wanted to. He did it because he liked me.

And Chris was the same way.

I started to wonder about Lars, too, like if he had any aces up his sleeve that he wanted to show off to me. I could only make an uneducated guess about that before I headed back up to the gallery to assist him and Will in the speakeasy. If I had to make a call for either him or Chris to pick me up whenever he could, then I would have to. I had no other way, anyway, just how I was sure Joey had no other way with the little money he scrounged from his pocket.


	11. Chapter 11

I finally got a hold of Lars later that evening, and right before I went to bed no less. I placed the set of graphite pencils Joey had given me on my desk and I positioned them around a bit so they were leaned up against a small stack of books there, right underneath my window, and I wondered if I could convince Dave and Stone to send me one of their plants for an added mood to it. I still wondered about their garden and the mechanics behind it, and in particular why the two of them were so adamant on ensuring no outsiders got a hold of it. Maybe that was why they were so kind to me on that first impression: Dave figured I hailed from around there and thus he made that assumption.

But after I had changed my clothes and ran a brush through my hair, I picked up my phone and dialed Lars' number. I figured Chris had fallen asleep at that point so I wished not to bother him. I knew Lars had had a long day that day given his speech slurred a bit. But it was in fact nice to hear his voice again after a time. He cleared his throat twice in the first minute alone I was on the phone with him.

“Will and I are figuring that it's best that we let Joey stay in the upstairs loft with the both of us,” he was saying at one point. “At least until one of us can travel back home—you know, I can go back to San Francisco.”

“Is there not enough money for you guys to go around?” I asked him as his line crackled a bit.

“Not at all. I have some and Will scrounges up a little bit from the bottom of his bank account, but that's about it. Joey spent almost the rest of his money on those pencils he got for you.”

I swallowed at the sound of that.

“I should probably tell you,” he started up again, “William—doesn't really have a lot of money anyway.”

“I thought so,” I confessed to him. “I mean, just hearing that he's living in the upstairs loft above the speakeasy and whatnot, and he's living there with you and Joey.”

“Well, I mean, he's almost out of money. He showed me the amount in there at the moment and it's alarming to see. He hopes to get this place open before he runs out of funds entirely.”

“So what're you thinking?” I asked him as I crawled under the covers of my bed. I started to wonder if Joey getting me those pencils were more than just a gift for me.

“Well, I am glad that you called when you did and I thank you for doing so. We need you here with us, to help us out. I have no idea what your situation is but we need you. We need your genius and your prowess—” He was cut off by the sound of something. “—huh? Oh, I'm speaking to Holly.”

He returned to me.

“Darling Joseph says hi.”

“Hi, Joey,” I said in a sweet voice. He was sweet to me, and thus I needed to return the favor.

“Hey, Hahlls!” he called out in a broken voice.

“So you guys want me there? When?” I asked Lars again once he returned to me.

“Well, preferrably tomorrow. That's how badly we need you here.”

“Bring your digital stuff with ya, too,” Joey added from the background.

“Yes!” Lars chimed in. “Bring your digital enhancement stuff, too. We need to see you at your fullest potential and at your most vulnerable. You gave yourself through your art when we modeled for you. The only way we can succeed is if we have you with us.”

“Sounds like a lot,” I admitted, even though if I had survived the pandemic, I could bring that speakeasy forth and I could help turn things around for the three of them.

“Well—I am sure you know what to do,” he assured me. “I believe in you. Joey believes in you, as does Will. We believe that you can lead the way and we shall be right behind you every step of the way.”

I smiled when he said that and I bode him good night before hanging up. I set my phone down on my desk and then I reached underneath my pillow for my sketchbook. I was about to doodle something real quick when I got an idea upon looking at those graphites again. I set my sketchbook down on my lap and reached for my phone again.

I pressed on the number in my address book and brought it up to my ear. I waited out one ring, and then—

“Hey, Holly,” Dave replied in a soft voice; he, too, sounded tired.

“Hey, Dave, can I ask you a question before you or I fall asleep?”

“Sure, what's up?”

“Do you have any extra flowers?”

“As a matter of fact, we do, yeah!” he answered. “Why, would you like some?”

“Yeah, maybe one of your lilies or one of your sunflowers. A little something to brighten up my room a bit. You know, like that.”

“I think we can do that, although Chris called me earlier today and said he wants to do something nice for you, too. He told me that he's kind of in the same boat as Joey, though, like his savings are starting to fall by the wayside.”

“Oh, man.” I frowned at the sound of that.

“Yeah—that's according to him, anyways. Stone and I are doing alright, but a few bucks for us goes a long way whereas when you're living in a place like the heart of Seattle like he is, it's pretty brutal.”

I cleared my throat. “Did Lars tell you what's going on with them?” I asked him in a small voice.

“He did, yeah. And I would know about that, too. After Nirvana, I was livin' in a van and I had no motivation to do anything.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I took a good long look at myself in the mirror and said, 'I'm gonna live every day as though it were my last.' And I did, and I have been. The pandemic also helped bring that to fruition. You know, the whole thing that the virus could infect you at any given second and it could kill you within a day.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” I said as I received flashbacks to when news of the virus hitting the mainland United States entered my mind right then.

“So what kind of flowers did you say? A lily or a sunflower?”

“Yeah, but I'm good with either one. Plants inspire me as much as music does.”

“And new ideas, I would reckon,” he added; I heard the rustling of a sleeping bag on his end and I knew he and Stone were ready for bed, too.

“Absolutely!” I declared. “And I dunno 'bout you but after the pandemic, I'm more than happy to go forth with a new way of life. I know my parents are.” And as soon as I said that, I regretted within a few microseconds of saying it. I hoped he didn't take it the wrong way.

“Say 'hi' to them for me when you get a chance,” he said with a little chuckle.

We said good night to each other and hung up at the same time. That time, I set my phone on the desk and picked up my sketchbook again. I decided to just use a mechanical pencil for this late night drawing and save those nice graphites Joey got me for something a little more important. I leaned back with the book sprawled over my lap and proceeded to do a study of hair: Chris' luxurious black waves, Joey's beautiful jet black corkscrews, Will's fine but fuzzy kinks, Lars' smooth feathery tendrils, and I even tried my hand at Stone's fine head of hair and Dave's delicate blond locks.

I doodled until I fell asleep with the book on my lap. I woke up at some time early in the morning and set the book on the desk, and lay down onto my back. I fell asleep for about a few hours when I was jarred awake by the sound of my mom's voice.

“Holly!”

I opened my eyes and peered about the room. The sun had risen just enough to bring some fresh new light in there, but I knew it was still early. I rubbed my eyes when she called my name again.

I rolled out of bed and darted out of the room to see what was the matter. I skidded into the living room where she had taken her seat on the couch and leaned forward as though something intense took place on the television. She, too, had woken up by the tired look upon her face and her robe wrapped around her body.

“What's wrong?” I sputtered as my voice broke from sleep and from fear.

“The virus came back,” she told me in a grave voice.

“Oh, no,” I muttered. I looked on at the news report to find that it was in fact true: the corona virus had returned with a vengeance. Cases were spiking all over the remnants of the country in the past few days alone.

“Yeah, the current vaccine isn't working anymore because the virus behaved like a regular, actual pathogen and it mutated again.”

“Which means...” My voice trailed off.

“You can't really go out now, unless it's important,” my dad added from the kitchen.

But helping out Will, Joey, Lars, and Chris was important. It was imperative that I be there at the speakeasy to do the dirty work for them. I promised Lars I would be there that day: if I had to sneak out with my mask on over my face, then I would have to do that.

This virus and the pathetic response to it singlehandedly ruined their lives as musicians: I needed to ensure that it wouldn't ruin my life as an artist, much less an artist who wanted to save them from the horrors of poverty.


	12. Chapter 12

It was that morning I realized I was a month from turning eighteen: seventeen years on this earth and I could actually say I survived a horrific pandemic. I had washed and kept my mask stashed away in the bottom drawer of my desk since news of the virus garnered in our favor. Such a high body count and yet we all survived it.

And now after hearing about it returning with the strength it had had before the release of the vaccine, I had to bring it back out of its hiding place.

Keep it on. Wash your hands. Stay far enough away from anyone and everyone so that if we all had our arms spanned out like birds, our fingertips would not even brush each other. Which meant I knew I would have to think about how to deal with Lars, Joey, Will, Chris, Dave, and Stone later on.

But I needed to be with them: I needed to help them out.

I had the story of having made art for some friends. It was sort of the truth and yet I never mentioned any names, so I found it to be a big fat lie as well. But I had to tell my parents where I was headed to nonetheless. I had art to tend to. I had the delicate lives of six men in my hands.

My mask had a filter inside of it to keep my face cool in the face of the intense heat looming over the Northwest in the summer time, and yet I recalled sweating like crazy around my chin and my mouth on the particularly hot days. It didn't help matters it was jet black and with the outlines of little white sugar skulls embroidered on the outside, either.

I hitched my hand bag over my shoulder with the new graphites Joey had given me, my laptop, and my digital drawing tablet inside; I tucked my phone into my pocket.

My mom put her arms around me.

“Stay safe, baby,” she whispered into my ear.

“Wash my hands and don't take off my mask,” I reiterated to her as I adjusted the bottom of my mask.

“I'll call if there are reports of new cases here,” she vowed. “You know what it was like before the vaccine came to fruition.”

“Absolutely!” And without another word, I stepped out the morning mist. Mount Rainier loomed in the background with the soft gray clouds and the incoming rain.

I had called Stone and Dave before I got dressed, and the former told me they were coming to pick me up and drive me to the speakeasy. Lucky for me, they had posted up down the block before the corner and right next to a large evergreen shrub that could hide all seven of us. I walked at a brisk pace towards their car; Stone had on a bright red kerchief over his nose and mouth while Dave had on a black ski mask.

“You guys heard, too?” I asked them through the slightly open passenger window once I came within earshot.

“The hell we did!” Dave declared in a muffled voice.

“Get on in—the boys are waitin' for ya,” Stone told me with a gesture to the back seat. I climbed in and we drove up to the speakeasy. Once we reached the neighborhood, I realized Chris had forgotten to text me good morning earlier. Or maybe he did, I just didn't feel it or hear it for whatever reason.

But I took out my phone from my pocket. The screen was blank. He forgot to text me.

But we reached the outside of the speakeasy before I could do anything more. I climbed out and thanked Stone and Dave for driving me there.

“I should tell you,” Dave started in a muffled voice, “I just sent some roses to Tom—Tom Araya, you know about him?”

“Yes,” I said.

“—I sent him roses this morning and he told me the pathogen has come back in full swing back East. He might come up here from L.A. to see what's going on with the speakeasy here, but that's about it. Rock n' roll and metal is like a family, so—we're looking out for all of you guys as well as any of our friends, too.”

“So give us a ring if things go sideways,” Stone advised me.

“Gladly!” I said; there was a part of me that wanted to give them both kisses but I knew I couldn't. Not now. Not with the virus raging again.

I headed into the building with my bag still slung over my shoulder: I opened the door with the sole of my shoe as I didn't want to risk it.

Lars and Will were congregated on the side of the room with what looked like my drawings of them. Lars looked as though he had just taken a shower while Will's eyes drooped a bit with exhaustion. The latter held a big old paint brush, one with a thick handle and a head of bristles the size of a quarter.

“Hey, there she is!” Will declared with a tired smile, and then his smile faded when he realized I was wearing a mask.

“Do you guys have masks or anything to cover your faces with?” I asked them as I came within earshot.

“No,” Lars replied with a knitting of his eyebrows. And then he gaped at me. “Oh, fucking hell. Don't tell me.”

“It is,” I said with a nod of my head. “Unfortunately. I saw it on the news earlier—it's not up here, but I'm wearing this no matter what happens.”

“Don't blame ya,” said Will with a shake of his head.

“Where's Joey?” I asked them.

“He's still sleeping,” Lars replied.

“He had kind of a rough night last night,” Will added. “He was awake a lot. He kept kicking me in the face, too—he and I were sleeping head to toe—so I hardly slept last night myself.”

“Tour life seems a bit redundant now, doesn't it?” Lars joked.

“For real. Even when I was with Comes With the Fall, I slept better on a single stint of a tour than I did last night.”

“Also, I just got off the phone with Chris,” Lars told me. “He's on his way here right now.”

“I was just going to ask, have either of you guys talked to Chris?”

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and checked the screen, and I swallowed down the upwell of a fluttery feeling in my stomach at the sight in my hand.

“Shit, I might have to spend the night here,” I confessed to them.

“Probably,” Will replied with a shrug of the shoulders. “You probably can't leave anyway.”

The sound of yawning caught my ear. I raised my gaze to Joey shuffling into the room from the far end. Some of his black curls spread over his face while others had been pushed back from the side of his neck and his shoulder; his brown eyes just looked tired.

“Hey, he's awake!” Lars declared.

“I'm awake,” he echoed in a broken voice. “—and I feel like the cat just dragged me inta th' place, too.” His face lit up at the sight of me. “Hey, Hahlly. I was hopin' you'd show up, I wanna ask you—” And then his face washed out to the color of old wallpaper. “—oh, fuck, you gotta be kiddin' me.”

“It's spreading like crazy back East,” I told him. “I'm not risking it here.” He breathed hard and heavy.

“Oh, shit—” He sank down in the chair at the counter and ran a hand through his black curls. I stayed away from them even though I knew we were far away from it.

I looked at Joey's little body and I grimaced at the thought of him contracting the virus. I also grimaced at the thought of Chris contracting it, too.

To envision both men having the absolute worst time breathing and blanketed in a thick wave of cold sweat. Eating only things that are incredibly spicy to otherwise taste it. To hear their hacking coughs and to see their beautiful bodies wither and waste away to nothing, especially with Joey given he was thinner than Chris.

The door behind me swung open; I turned to find Chris himself striding inside, complete with a black mask upon his face, too. He had little crescent moons embroidered on the front of his mask.

“Hey,” I greeted him in a soft voice.

“Hey,” he echoed; the corners of his eyes crinkled with a beckoning smile. “Sorry I didn't text you earlier.”

“Oh, it's okay. I figured you would at some point anyway.”

I returned to Joey behind me.

“What'd you want to ask me?” I recalled. He pointed at the big paint brush in Will's hand.

“I wanna watch ya paint,” Joey told me.

“You want to watch me paint,” I reiterated with a snicker.

“Yeah. I watched ya draw—I wanna see what'cha do with bristles. I know Chris does, too.”

“But Joey being Mr. Sassy drew the straw first,” Chris filled in.

“Okay. Where do you wanna do it?”

“There's a room in the back here that's the quintessential place to paint. Lars found ya paints an' everythin'.”

“I really did,” said Lars as he ran his fingers through his wet hair. “I even set up a little easel for you.”

“Aw, that's so sweet,” I remarked.

“Just—y'know—don't breathe on me,” he said.  
“Well, of course,” I chuckled at him. Joey gave his curls and ringlets a light toss back with a flick of his head and then he stood to his feet. He gestured for me to follow him. I didn't even walk three steps when someone behind me cleared their throat.

“Holly,” Chris called after me. I turned around to find he had stripped off his mask and tucked it underneath his chin.

“Yeah?”

He swallowed. He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“You forgot this.”

He held out the paint brush that Will had found. I gasped and strode on over to him. Even though he kept his mask underneath his chin, I walked on closer to him with my eyes locked onto his.

“Thank you,” I said to him in a soft voice, to which he winked at me with his left eye so Will and Lars wouldn't notice.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _”he’s exploring the taste of her.  
>  arousal, so accurate.  
> he sets off the beauty in her;  
> he’s venus, venus as a boy.”_  
> -“venus as a boy”, bjork

Joey led me to the back room there at the other end of the speakeasy, right behind the space where we were to hang up the paintings. He reached the door first and held it open for me. I showed him a sweet smile as I walked past him into the cozy little room. Indeed, Lars had posted up a wooden easel for me near the window, complete with a stretched eggshell colored canvas rested upon those spindly polished boards.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I made my way to the pair of stools there on either side of the easel. I caught the sound of the door closing part of the way behind me.

“Do ya mind if the door isn't open all the way?” he asked me.

“Not at all,” I confessed to him as I took my seat on the stool before the canvas. I examined the tray of paints right next to me, all of them nice and well loved, but I knew I could make them go far here. I then turned my head and examined him standing there before me: I eyed the open collar of his shirt and the smooth light brown skin there on the front of his neck and his collar bones. I thought of the times Chris texted me, especially the time he asked me if he wanted to strip for me, and I nibbled on my bottom lip. He pushed a curled lock of black hair aside to show me the side of his neck.

“What?” he asked me.

“I just wanna look at you,” I confessed to him.

“Well, I oughta give it up to ya right now,” he teased me with a raise of his eyebrows.

“What's that?” I wondered aloud.

“That,” he said.

“That what?”

“You know, that,” he said with a nod of his head.

“What's that?” I asked him while I looked at him right in the face.

“My nose,” he said as he tapped the tip of his finger on the end of the nose.

“You're funny,” I said to him with a giggle, to which he shrugged.

“I try my best.” He set a hand on his chest and stroked the front of his shirt towards his slim stomach. The fabric of his button up shirt looked a little loose and comfortable: it reminded me of the beginning of the pandemic and during that winter, when it was cold outside and it felt as though everyone wore baggy, comfy clothes, because no one was really doing anything or going anywhere. I got into the habit of wearing my flannel pajamas on the really cold mornings when I'd draw on my tablet. It reminded me of the warm, cozy feeling of being under blankets on those cold rainy nights there under the crown of Mount Rainier.

I grinned at him as he made his way over to the stool before me. He set one foot up on the bottom rung of the stool and held onto the edges of the seat with the palms of his hands. The hem of the shirt bunched around the tops of his thighs. He just looked cozy and comfy, like he could be snuggled up under a bunch of blankets on a cold winter's morning.

“You wanna come closer?” I offered to him.

“Do I wanna come closer? Is that a li'l reference to something or other?”

I shrugged.

“It could be if you wanna,” I retorted to him, but then again, I didn't know where I was going with that. But at least it made him laugh. He set his feet down on the floor, and then he picked up the stool, and inched closer to me. I twirled the brush in my fingers.

He peered over my shoulder at the paints before me.

“You know, you oughta take that paint an' splatter it around so it looks like a rainbow,” he suggested.

“Where should I splatter it, though?” I asked him with a turn of my body towards him. He kept his lips parted a bit and leaned back a bit to show me his chest. I thought back to when I drew him in the next room there. I locked eyes with him.

I wanted him to sing to me. Look at me right in the eye and sing to me, and I wanted to sing back to him. Like Anthrax could do “Armed and Dangerous” for us all and I would be right there in front of him, and he would bow the microphone closer to me so we could perform a short little duet together before Danny's solo. Just sing into each other's faces.

Almost out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him reaching up to the collar of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” I asked him. But he never answered; rather he undid the button on his collar. Followed by the next one. And the next one. And the next one.

It was as if he read my mind. His shirt looked as though it was melting off of his shoulders and his chest. The sleeves bunched around his elbows and the lower part of his arms. His slim little body was gorgeous—to see him again in a closed off room like this gave me a different feeling.

“Where should I splatter the paint, Joey?” I repeated the question.

“My chest,” he said. I looked on at his chest. We sat next to one another, right there, alone in this room: my texting buddy wasn't there with me to better direct my attention.

“You want me to take off my clothes for you, don't you?” I teased him.

“If you want, Hahlls.”

I showed him my tongue and I lowered my gaze towards his stomach. I brought a hand to my mouth.

“What? What's wrong?”

“God, you're hot,” was all I could say to him. “What a beautiful boy. You're really, really beautiful. Let me see more of your belly.”

“Show you my belly,” he muttered as he stood to his feet, “—my flat fat little belly—”

“You're not fat, though,” I pointed out. “Far from it—”

He undid the button of his jeans but he let the snug waist cling there onto his hips. His slim waist looked soft and silky, complete with a gentle curve under his navel. He held his arms next to his body as if he was carrying the bunched fabric around him like a cape.

I felt my lips part as I took him in right there before me. He had an almost perfect diamond shape to the middle of his body: the baggy fabric of the shirt cradled him and accentuated his hips and his slender thighs. And then he gave his head a bow forward, and his black curls sprawled down onto his bare chest like the tentacles of an octopus.

It was like looking at the masculine version of Venus. I had no idea if I had felt like this before, not even with Chris. Sure, I showed myself to Chris and I gave him my time and attention, but here was Joey, right before me showing me more of his skin. More of his skin and giving it more attention with his blanketed hands on the loosened up waist of his jeans. I hoped he didn't notice my nipples tightening up underneath the fabric of shirt and my jacket, or the fact the very sight of him made my face feel warm. It was a feeling I hadn't had before with Chris, who just made me smile.

“So gorgeous,” I whispered. “So—utterly gorgeous.”

I stood to my feet and loomed before him.

“Oh, my God,” I breathed out and clutched at myself.

“You like what you see here, don't ya?” he teased me with a smirk. “You like what you see here so much you wanna put it on the canvas next to us, don't ya?”

“I do,” I whispered. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah, go ahead and have a feel of your subject,” he encouraged me in a breathy voice. “Just—y'know. Keep it above the belt. I don't wanna—start sump'n here after Lars went out of his way to put this up for ya an' everythin'.”

“Oh, yeah. For sure.”

I ran my fingers along the deep part of his chest. His skin felt as smooth as butter. As warm as toast on a cold day. As brown as a fresh cup of coffee.

I kept my fingers on his skin all the way down towards his waist, where I kept it above the loosened band of his jeans. I ran the tips of my fingers along that soft skin there on his waist, which, for some reason, felt even softer and smoother than the skin on his chest.

“You like what you feel, don't ya?”

“God—” was all I could say. “You still want me to splatter paint on you?”

“Nah. I just said that to be a smart ass—unless you wanna. You could have yer own—who's the guy who did the splatter paint stuff?”

“Jackson Pollock?” I filled in.

“Jackson Pollock, yeah!”

“Yeah, but you'd wash it off, though,” I pointed out. “You know, the next time you'd shower.”

“Not for you, no. I'd put somethin' on here to protect it. So—y'know—I'd wash myself down, but yer little act here would remain intact on me. Right here on my skin.”

“You'd go that far for me?”

“Maybe. Unless you're willin' to go far for me.” He swallowed. “I saw you wearin' that mask an' you said it's back East…” His voice trailed off.

“You want me to make you comfortable here,” I figured.

“Please. As of right now… I'm a man with no country, and my band mates, I think are down south with Araya. Tom. But 'til the storm passes again, I'm stuck here. An' yer the girl, too.”

“You want me to paint for you?” I recalled, to which he showed me a kind little smile.

“I do. You can stop touchin' me if you wanna.”

“But I don't wanna. You're nice and soft. You're a very gorgeous boy. I can't stop looking at you, or wanting to drink you up.”

“So, you gonna paint with your one hand an' stroke me with the other, or—?”

“I can actually do that,” I assured him. “Several times, during the thick of the pandemic, I would draw on my digital tablet with my own hand and hold a cup of coffee in the other. I'm used to it, Joey. I'm used to working with one hand and holding a cup of Joey in the other.”


	14. Chapter 14

I didn't dare tell Chris about what went down in that room afterwards. All I had was the painting Joey wanted me to make, and he had asked me to make it for him. My fingers caressed over his bare chest and down onto the one button left undone. His skin felt smooth like velvet: soft sun kissed velvet complete with a little bit of that coarse dark Italian hair.  
I imagined a quintet of red feathers blooming out of the chest of the painting. I imagined doing the same picture but under my digital drawing pad.  
A few times I flashed a glimpse over at him and the genuinely pleased expression on his handsome dark face. At one point, he leaned closer to me and lingered before the easel to see it for himself. He loomed closer to me to show me more of his chest and his fine collar bones, to which I grinned at him.  
"What'chu doin', slinky boy," I teased him as I cleaned off the brush with the towel.  
"Wantin' to drink ya down," he replied with a mischievous smile on his face.  
"You're a bad boy," I said to him; I moved my hand back from his chest to move a lock of hair behind my ear. The corner of his mouth lifted up even more towards the side and he nudged a curl of inky black hair back from the side of his neck.  
"I've been a real bad boy, y'know," he retorted in a low voice.  
"I want you to take a look at this," I gestured to the painting before me, "and I want you to tell me—" His skin smelled so soft and sweet, like he had just stepped out of the shower. "—I want you to tell me what you think of it."  
He turned his head just a bit, just enough for a good look at the painting of him I had made. I made sure his curls were rich and dark as they draped over his shoulders, and I made sure his skin was as gentle and delicate as it felt underneath my fingers.  
"Nice touch with the feathers," he remarked. He turned his head back to me to better show me the warm bloom in his face. "An' I like how dark you made it, too. Very metal. Very temptin', too."  
"I'm almost inclined to stay the night here," I confessed to him. "You know, the pandemic coming back and whatnot."  
"So we could sing to Bob Dylan and make a bunch of paintings?" he teased me.  
"Would you sing to Mr. Dylan?" I challenged him. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and gazed right into my eyes. Those dark brown irises felt like molten dark chocolate, as sinful and decadent as anything, and yet he swallowed me whole. He cleared his throat.  
" _Early one mornin' the sun was shinin_ '," he sang to me in that soulful voice of his, " _I was layin' in bed, wondrin' if she'd changed at all... If her hair was still black..._ " He gazed up at the crown of my head. " _Her folks they said our lives together, sure was gonna be rough. They never did like Mama's homemade dress and Papa's bank book wasn't big enough._ "  
I felt my heart swell inside of my chest.  
" _And I was standin' on the side of the road_ ," he raised his voice a bit and in turn it filled out to this real rich sound; I glanced down to find his slim stomach filling out underneath his shirt from his controlled breathing. "— _rain fallin' on my shoes, heading out for the east coast. Lord knows I've paid some dues—gettin' through_ —" He closed his eyes.  
" _Tangled up in blue_ ," we sang in unison. He opened his eyes and bowed his head out of modesty, to which I giggled at him.  
"The blues are a good fit for you," I told him.  
"I can always seem to find that within me," he confessed. "That sense o' melancholy, y'know?"  
"Definitely—I can see us going places with it, that's for sure. You guys play while I paint and draw, and I'll give you guys some of the dues I make."  
"Would you really?" He raised his dark eyebrows at that suggestion.  
"Really," I said. I lowered my hand to the one resting on his knee. "I know what it's like to be anxious and not know where anything is going. I know what it's like to be hungry and helpless. It only makes sense to me to pay my dues back to you guys. Get this place going again—I don't know what to do about getting you back home to upstate New York, but to get this place moving and bustling again as an art gallery is a start."  
"An' we can have our shares, too."  
"Right! I can do my thing and so can you guys. It works on paper—we just have to get the actual thing moving now." I peered about the tray of the easel for something to write with.  
"Do you have a pen on you?" I asked him.  
"Do I have a pen on me?" He raised his eyebrows at me. I giggled at him when I realized what he was getting at.  
"You know... somethin' to write with."  
"Oh, that! Nah, I'm afraid I don't."  
"I'll be right back," I vowed to him. I climbed to my feet, and rounded him, and I made my way towards the door. I got probably three feet when I heard Chris' voice there at the end.  
"Holly! There you are!" He had stripped his mask off and kept it underneath his chin.  
I raised my eyebrows at him.  
"Here I am. What's up?"  
"Holly, I will give you—" Chris paused with his teeth pressed upon his bottom lip. I could feel the pensiveness.  
"I will give you twenty dollars to kiss Lars for me," he finished. I squinted my eyes at him.  
"Double or nothing, and I'll throw in a bit of tongue."  
Chris continued to nibble on his bottom lip.  
"Besides, where did all of this come from all of a sudden?" I asked him.  
He peered behind him to the big front room, where Will and Lars had congregated in to converse about something. Chris then returned to me and reached into his pocket for something.  
"I got this for you," he told me in a low voice, "well, Will helped me get it, but he told me to say it was from me because... well. You know."  
"No, I don't," I confessed to him. He cleared his throat.  
"Anyways, here."  
In the dim light, I made out the sight of a pick-shaped pendant dangling at the end of the red and black chain. It was about the size of the pad of my thumb and a bright, almost neon reddish orange color. Splatters of blue and green decorated the front and back of it: I held out my hand so I could take a better look at it. On the front face of the pendant, it read "official artist" in black engraved lettering.  
I gasped at the sight of it.  
"Thank you," I whispered to him, to which he winked at me and showed me a warm little smile.  
"We do what we can in a time like this," he assured me, "especially when it comes to the girl I like."  
I curled my fingers around the pendant and held it to my chest, right above my heart. I felt my face grow warm. I then put the chain around my neck, right underneath my hair, and then I linked it up and let the pendant rest atop the triangular shape of my shirt.  
"Do you have a pen or something to write with?" I asked him.  
"A pen? I think so. Let me look..." He turned behind him to the end of the hallway, and he called for Will and Lars.  
Joey cleared his throat behind me; I turned around right as he slunk past me with his fingers holding the collar of his shirt together. He showed me that shy little smile, complete with that sweet warm blush across his face.  
During the pandemic, we had to stand six feet apart, even indoors. But it was quite the relief and the interesting change of pace to touch him and feel him while I painted him. I showed him a wink as he stepped around the corner.  
"Holly—Holly—look over this way." I turned back to Chris as he handed me a little dark blue ballpoint pen for me.  
"Oh, thank you!" I declared, and I doubled back to the room to sign the painting. I rested a hand on the seat of the stool to support my weight. For some reason, I pictured Chris right behind me with his hands resting on my hips. It was only another month before we could do anything off the rails.  
I scribbled the word "Hollywood" onto the bottom of the canvas. I examined the painting while still keeping my hands on the top of the stool.  
Joey was so sensual and lush, very much a gorgeous boy and the perfect model for me. I knew Chris proved to be quite the model for me, but Joey was in a whole other ballpark altogether. I let my eyes scan the bottom of the painting, where I had painted the bottom buttons as undone so his belly was kind of exposed.  
I nibbled my bottom lip at the thought of Chris posing nude for me. I thought about him doing that for me on my birthday. I made a mental note to suggest that to him at some point.  
I stood back upright and tucked the pen behind my ear.  
I reached for the top of the painting to stretch it out on the table behind me. I turned my back to the door, so I was caught off guard by the sound of a gentle knock on the door.  
I whirled back around to find Dave making his way into the room here: he had removed his mask and traded it for a ball cap atop his head.  
"All the plants are at their highest, Dave," said Stone from the hallway.  
"Okay, good!" Dave declared.  
"What's up?" I asked him.  
"We made it so the next order is going to the next one in line from Joey," he explained to me in a low voice.  
"What do you mean?" I asked him.  
"We're gonna give him some fake ones and give the next one on the waiting list following him the real ones. It'll be a swap of sorts."  
"Who's next on the list?" I knitted my eyebrows at him.  
He rubbed the roundest part of his chin in repose.  
"I forgot to write it down," he confessed to me in a low voice. "But I can assure you that darling Joey will haveta pick something else to find his way to your heart."  
I stood before the painting there on the table so it lay out of his line of sight. I wondered if Dave was too little, too late here, and Joey had already found his way inside here. He did however, eye the pendant around my neck and he ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of his teeth at the sight of it.  
"Who gave you that?" he asked me.  
"This?" I fingered the pendant.  
"Yeah."  
"My mom."  
"That's badass."  
"Yeah, I'm... kind of a mama's girl."  
"I'm real close with my mom, too," he added with a toothy grin, "and she always supported me in my endeavors, too. And I can assure you that, since I'm as close to my mom as I am, in the meantime, Mr. Bellardini will have to find the path to your heart if he wants you." He winked at me and doubled back out to the hallway, which in turn left me alone there with the painting on the table.  
I was lying to the boys, but it was only because I wanted both Chris and Joey. I also had a bet now with Lars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics to "tangled up in blue" by bob dylan!


	15. Chapter 15

I lingered over the painting of Joey laying there on the table. Such a beguiling boy—I wanted to make his curls blacker, as black as the bottom of the ocean. And I wanted to climb inside of that painting and feel him some more. Art in the time of corona.

I swallowed, and then I sighed through my nose. Their voices floated into the room right behind me and I wondered if they were about to start something without me. I peered about the table for a sheet of plastic or something to cover up the painting. I needed to protect this painting of Joey.

I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear before I stooped down to the edge of the table. There was in fact a little wooden shelf right underneath the surface of the table: in between the shelf and the bottom of the table was a space big enough for the painting plus another one if I wanted to make that step. Careful not to catch the edges of the painting on something, I slid him into the shadows there. He slid in there as though the shelf awaited him.

I wiped my hands together and then I doubled back to the doorway to meet up with the boys. My boys.

Will laughed out loud at something once I made my way into the hall. I adjusted the collar of my jacket so as to hide the pendant from their line of sight. I stepped into the front room, where I was greeted by the aroma of fresh coffee and something earthy.

“There she is!” Stone said as he lingered behind Dave and Joey. He showed me a sly grin.

“We're takin' shots,” Dave told me.

“Shots?” I paused right there. Never mind the fact I wasn't old enough to touch them more below the belt, I wasn't old enough to even so much as have a drink. But then Joey held up a little white cup at me.

“Shot o' espresso!” he declared.

“Shot of espresso!” I corrected my own thoughts.

“Yeah, come have some with us!” He grinned at me and I rounded the table to the spot between him and Will, the latter of whom stirred his cup with a tarnished silver stirring stick. He set down the stick on the top of the table and then, gingerly, brought the edge of the cup to his dark lips for a sip of the espresso shot.

“Double espresso for Billy Balloo here,” Chris remarked, and Will almost spat it out at that. We burst out into laughing; but then Will caught himself and continued to sip it.

“Fuck,” he muttered once he held it before his mouth.

“Too hot?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Strong as hell, too, God damn.”

Joey brought his cup to his dark lips for a sip himself. He smacked his lips and blinked several times, complete with a raise of his eyebrows.

“That'll put some hair on your chest, won't it, Joe?” Will asked him, to which Joey lifted the collar of his shirt and took a peek down to his chest. I giggled at him, and then Dave showed me a little white cup for myself. I thanked him and blew on the top of the dark espresso on the inside.

I took a little sip like I was drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows. The espresso was in fact strong, like a slap in the face, but not too strong. It was like two cups of the regular cup of coffee I'd have during the heat of the pandemic.

“Holly!” Lars called out to me from across the room. I lifted my gaze from the cup and up to him. He gestured for me to come over to him there on the side of the room. I climbed up to my feet and doubled back around the table to meet up with him.

He gave his hair a light toss back from the side of his head and neck and showed me a warm smile like a prince.

“What's going on?” I asked him.

“Well, we each figure it's going to be a long time before things go back to the way they were before the arrival of the virus,” he began.

“Right.”

“Well, I was thinking—and crunching some numbers no less—we can have things rolling here within a week if we put our minds to it.”

“Oh? That's wonderful, Lars! I feel like I have to do something, though.”

“Yes, you have to play the role of artist. I shall do the talking.”

“What about them, though?” I asked him with a gesture back to the five of them congregated around the table.

“And then we're gonna get our asses over ta—BAHSTAHN,” Chris joked and they burst out laughing as a result.

“They'll be helping—and they will act as your first patrons, too. I'm sure you know about how to start an art business.”

“Well, I know the basics. Know thy craft and also everyone's different.”

“Knowing is half the battle after all—” He tucked a lock of hair behind his hair and relaxed right in front of me. The aroma of the espresso seemed to be getting to him. He ran his tongue along the real soft looking parts of those tight little cherry colored lips.

I took another sip of the espresso shot.

“You'll punch him in the back of the head?” Dave was asking one of them.

“How is it?” Lars asked me.

“What, the espresso?”

“Yes.”

“Delicious.” It really was, too: rich and full in flavor, and in turn it woke me up a bit more standing right there.

“It is in fact courtesy of Charlie—Charlie from Anthrax. There was some of his coffee in the back room and so Will suggested we make some shots for all of us.”

“Aren't you gonna have some?” I asked him.

“I—am not really a coffee drinker. I have more tea than coffee. A lot more tea in fact.”

I peered over the top of the white cup at the sight of him right there before me. I did in fact like his round face and his lips looked soft and smooth. Chris still had the bet he had made with me: I lowered my gaze to his body. Toned but heavy, heavier than Joey. Where I could put my arms around Joey's body and touch my elbows, I could feel Lars up and find a bit of extra flesh there.

Double or nothing, I added a little provocation to it. I nibbled on my bottom lip. I touched Joey: it only made sense to do it with Lars.

“I want to paint you,” I begged him in a low voice. He raised his eyebrows at me, which in turn brightened his face.

“Like—what you did in the room back here?” he asked me with a gesture back to the hallway.

I nibbled on my bottom lip again and then I took another sip of the espresso. I drank it down all the way, and set the cup on the shelf next to me, and then I gestured for him to follow me back there. I didn't look over my shoulder but I knew he was following me.

I kept the door open for him, but I ducked behind the panels. Once he was in there, I reached for him and yanked him closer to me.

“What're you—?” he sputtered.

“Kiss me,” I pleaded to him.

“Huh?”

“Kiss me, you animal,” I whispered to him. I pressed my lips to his: he tasted fresh and clean, much like a fresh glass of water straight out of Denmark. He smelled of buttered pancakes and fresh vegetables. I reached underneath his shirt to feel him and that was when he scrambled back. He looked at me, mortified.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he breathed out. He reached to his left for a nudge of the door so we would be out of earshot.

“Okay.” He then showed me a devilish grin, complete with a little twinkle in his eye. I gestured for him to move in closer to me.

He pushed my hair back and unzipped my jacket. I reached underneath his shirt to feel the buttery smooth skin on his back. He kissed me again much to my pleasure. I had no idea how old he was, but quite frankly, I didn't care. I was kissing Lars in private and Chris owed me money at that point.

He removed his lips from my own for a look into my eyes.

“Romance in the time of corona,” he whispered back to me.

“Hot, bad romance in the time of corona,” I corrected him with a wink. I could feel his hands making their way up my shirt towards the hooks of my bra, and I wagged a finger at him.

“Ah, you wanna little Danish teasing of sorts?” he offered. I didn't know what he meant by that, so I nodded my head.

“Unless Dave gets here,” he advised me.

“Dave?”

“Dave Mustaine. He's supposed to be here in a little while if I remember correctly. We spoke on the phone earlier—he can't wait to meet you.”

“So many people who wanna meet me,” I muttered aloud.

“Precisely,” he retorted in a soft, husky voice. He kissed me again. Three times. Four times. And then he turned his head to the easel behind us.

“So you want to paint me like gorgeous Joe in the next room?”

“I do, yes!”

“How did he do it?”

“He just showed me some skin and I went with it.”

Lars showed me a lopsided unsure smile.

“Is that all?”

“He let me touch his chest,” I added, to which he raised his eyebrows at me.

“Okay, now we are getting somewhere. Shirt on or off?”

“Partially off. Like he opened up the buttons and he let me caress him down.”

Lars pursed his lips together, and then he backed up as if he was about to show me something. He reached down to the hem of his shirt and peeled it off of his body. I was met with a toned but slightly stout body, complete with sinewy drummer's arms. Where Joey's skin was smooth and silky like the cup of espresso I had had before then, Lars' skin was a creamy pale capped with lines of dark hair all over his chest and his waist.

He gave his hair a toss back to show me his neck, and then he unbuttoned his jeans for me.

Within mere moments, he was nude before me. I felt my face grow warm at the sight of him.

“Oh, man,” I muttered.

“Exactly,” he said as the twinkle in his eye never disappeared. I made my way over to the easel for the paint brush.

Lars dragged the stool away from me so he could pose for me.


	16. Chapter 16

“Should I put both of my feet up or just one?”

I swallowed upon sight of Lars' nude body there on the stool before me: he had opened up his legs enough for me to see in between there. I licked my lips upon sight of him. His skin looked so smooth, like fresh butter straight out of the churner. His skin looked especially smooth right in between his thighs. I wanted to touch him there, much like how I touched Joey on his chest, but I wanted to go further with Lars.

I examined the curvature of his legs as they dangled against the legs of the stool. I swallowed again, but he asked me the question so I had to tell him.

“Try—just one,” I advised him.

“Right or left?”

I lowered my gaze to his legs once again. His ankles had a nice, toned curve to them: his right one had it more so the case, thus I gestured at that one. He raised his right leg and rested his foot upon the highest rung so I got a full view of the inside of his thighs and his pelvic area.

I could feel my face growing warm at the sight of him there before me. I unzipped my jacket a bit but it was useless: I needed a bit more of a relief.

I decided to take the whole jacket off: I lay it down on the table next to me. The painting of Joey was right there, underneath the surface of the table, out of sight and out of mind. But I thought of him there right underneath me, right underneath my arms.

I gazed on at Lars' legs and his hips, and his waist and his chest. His whole body, toned and lovely from drumming and taking care of himself during the pandemic.

One thing that always got me about the thick of the pandemic, aside from the obvious fact of people picking and choosing when to wear their masks or not, was the odd and oft vivid dreams I would experience some nights. It was because of those nights I would wake up and the sight of the dream still hung inside of my mind. Still bright and bold inside my mind, like a drug induced hallucination. It was because of this very tidbit that I found the ability to inject a bright new life into my art.

And it was because of that very tidbit that when I picked up the paint brush to bring him to life.

The shadows hugged the contours of his body while the cold lights over our heads gave his skin a nice healthy soft glow. There was one thing he was missing, however. One thing that I needed a little help from.

I swallowed yet again and shifted my weight whilst standing there with the paint brush in hand.

“Don't move,” I told him as I raised a finger at him. He showed me a sly little smile and I ducked out of the room to the hallway, where I was met with the sound of chatter and whatnot as it floated in from the next room. I made my way back to the front room, which smelled even warmer and homier than before from the fresh coffee brewing. I spotted Stone standing on the other side of the room with his mask in hand. Will burst out laughing at something Chris was doing, but it was a good cover for me to skirt past them and towards the front door. His face lit up at the sight of me.

“Hey, Holly. What's up?”

“Can I speak to you in private?” I asked him in a low voice.

“Uh, sure?”

I guided him to around the counter, and into the next room. I ducked around the corner and he faced on at me with a quizzical expression upon his face.

“Do you—have any flowers on hand?” I asked him.

“Yeah, we have a, uh—couple of lilies and a pair of sunflowers in the back seat of the car.” He chuckled a bit. “This is what you wanted to ask me?”

I licked my lips: I never realized how thirsty I felt right then.

“I'm—drawing Lars,” I told him, to which he shook his head.

“Yeah? So?”

I nibbled on my bottom lip.

“You know. I'm—drawing him.” I raised my eyebrows at him. He squinted at me.

“Without clothes on,” I clarified, to which he grinned at me.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” I nodded my head.

“So you want a little—decorative to it. But why are you telling me this in private, though? That doesn't answer my question about it.”

“Because—” I gestured for him to come closer to me. He bowed his head in towards mine. “—I don't want Chris or Joey to know that I'm in the same room as a naked man.”

“Oh, I see,” he whispered. “Should I tell Dave?”

“As long as he can keep the secret, too,” I pointed out. Stone showed me his tongue right then. He had this twinkle in his eye and I wanted to know what he was thinking right then. He slithered past me back to the room behind us. I kept my back pressed to the wall even though I was alone in there. I slid towards the doorway, where I was met by Will and the empty coffee mug in hand.

“Oh, 'scuse me—” I said to him, out of breath: I had been holding my breath for a good long minute without my realizing it.

“Oh, no, pardon me,” he assured me in a hushed voice. I tried to slip past him but he lunged for the same direction as me. I went for the left and so did he. Right. Back to left. He zigged whenever I zagged.

“Well,” he said at one point.

“Wishing well?” I asked him.

“That's wishing Will to you,” he teased me, to which I giggled. I finally managed to duck past him to meet up with Stone and the supposed bouquet of flowers, but I knew he would have to go past them there at the table. I hung there, right next to Chris and Joey, the latter of whom had this faraway look on his face.

“What's up, Joseph?” I greeted him as I pressed a hand to my hip. He sighed through his nose and lowered his gaze to the bottom hem of my shirt and then to the floor.

“He's afraid of not having much of anything to do while he's here on the west coast,” Chris clarified for me.

“Turn to art,” I told him and I saw him suck in his stomach, even though there wasn't much of anything to suck in with him.

“Turn to art, Joey,” I begged him as I took a step towards him, “trust me on this. Please trust me on this. It'll help you big time.”

“But I'm not good,” he pleaded to me.

“You can get good, though,” I assured him. “I mean, you got good with singing and drumming. I can help you if you wish.”

“Would you?” He knitted his eyebrows together.

“Of course.” I turned to Chris, who looked on at me with a pensive expression on his face. “Would you be willing to join us as well?”

“Yeah, sure. As long as it gets me closer to serving as model for you.” He flashed me a wink and Joey lowered his gaze yet again.

“I'll teach you guys about color theory and how to give things depth,” I vowed to them. “I'll teach you even with all the feelings I have about my art from time to time.”

Joey tucked a curl behind his ear and that was when Stone stepped back into the speakeasy. He handed me the bouquet as if he was actually handing me a bouquet of flowers for me.

“You're not afraid of the unknown,” he told me.

“There's nothing about it to be afraid of,” I assured him with a shrug of the shoulders. The lilies and the sunflowers all smelled fresh as though they had been picked right out of their garden. “Nothing about it to be afraid of.”

Chris winked at me again as I doubled back to the room to catch up with Lars again. Sure enough, he hadn't moved a muscle since I stepped out of there. I handed him two of the lilies, and he tucked them both behind his ears.

“That's adorable as hell,” I told him with a chuckle. I rested one sunflower upon his shoulder and the other atop his thigh: my hand was a mere few inches from that extra bit of flesh between his legs, that length there. I got that close to it. That was a step further from touching Joey on his chest and his stomach.

I returned to the easel to finish the job with the flowers that time around. I knew that it had be getting late right then. The darkness was about to swallow us whole yet again.


	17. Chapter 17

“It's getting late, y'all,” Will said as Lars and I made our way back into the next room. It was the same story with the painting of him as it was with the one of Joey: I hid him underneath the table, out of sight, out of mind. He did however carry the flowers he had decorated his body with under his arm as if he was carrying a bunch of firewood with him. I peered out the door at the sight of the last rays of sunshine waning away for the darkness of the night.

Joey strode over to me with a little white china cup in one hand.

“What's this?” I asked him.

“Li'l cup of camisole tea,” he replied.

“Chamomile,” Chris corrected him from the other side of the room.

“Right.”

I giggled at him to which he blushed and shrugged his shoulders.

“Chris made it. It's ta help ya sleep tonight—I know it does me some nights.”

He handed me the cup with his head bowed a bit as if he was handing me a bouquet of posies. I took the cup and took a whiff of the hot tea inside

“I didn't know how you take yer tea so—I just left it as is,” he confessed. I drank down a small sip of the tea: within seconds, it warmed me up on the inside, like Joey himself was putting his arms around my waist.

“It's perfect,” I told him. He nodded his head to the side as if beckoning me somewhere.

“C'mon—let's step outside,” he coaxed me. “You, me, Chris, and Lars.”

“You guys go forth,” Chris called, “I'll be right there.”

Joey, Lars, and I walked towards the back room of the speakeasy, which I saw led to a small stretch of hallway and a tiny square of a porch. Joey held the door for me, and then Lars followed me outside there. I turned my head to find a single chair there on the tiles before me; I returned to Lars as he leaned his back against the side of the rail before me. I gazed beyond him to the sight of a few dark clouds rolling in from the Puget Sound, these dark silhouettes against the waning blue twilight made me think of those cold dark nights during that first winter during the pandemic.

The one thing that kept me from losing it was making art and sharing it with the world. Lars showed me a little grin; meanwhile, Joey slid the door most of the way closed and ran his fingers through his jet black curls.

“That was fun, was it not?” Lars whispered to me.

“Well—yeah,” I confessed to him. I took a sip of the tea and he slid up next to me there at the rail. I looked on at him with a raised eyebrow and the edge of the cup pressed to my lips.

“What's on your mind?” I asked him.

“Yeah, man, spill,” Joey joined in with a smirk on his face. Lars nibbled on his bottom lip: in the dim light, I could make out the sight of him eyeing the cup of tea in my hands. There was a twinkle in his eye, even in the darkness.

“Let's do truth or dare,” he suggested.

“The three of us?” Joey asked him.

“Yeah! We'll do it while Chris is still inside.”

“Shouldn't we wait for him, though?” I asked him.

“Not necessarily,” Lars pointed out.

“Well, we have to wait for him, though,” I insisted. “It'll be much more fun with Chris here with us.”

Lars glanced over at Joey, who shrugged back at him.

“You just wanna have a foursome with three boys, don't you,” Lars teased me.

“That's for me to know and for you to find out,” was all I could think of.

“Fucking Christ,” Joey muttered.

“My goodness,” Lars added. “So—oh dear. Uh—um. Where do I even start?”

“Well, let's go from there,” Joey started at a reluctant pace.

“What, a foursome?” asked Lars.

“Yeah. Gimme the truth, Lars. Would you get in bed with me, her, and Chris?”

“But what if I wanted to dare, though, Joey?”

“I dare you to get in bed with me, her, and Chris,” Joey said without missing a beat.

“What if I refuse?” Lars retorted. In the dim light, I noticed Joey nibbling on his bottom lip. He was out of money and had nowhere to go so I knew he couldn't make a bet if he wanted.

“What if you refuse?” I echoed him.

“Pass it on to you then,” Lars suggested with a gesture of his hand.

“You can always tell the truth, Hahlls,” Joey pointed out.

“Would you get in bed with us?” asked Lars.

“With Chris for sure,” I replied, but then I hesitated when I thought of looking at Lars' naked body just a few minutes ago. Earlier that day, I touched Joey's chest. It only made sense to me; but to them, they were totally clueless about the other.

“And what about myself?” Lars continued, his voice crisp and clear and a little low.

“Yeah, what about Mr. Sweet Talkin' Dane here?” Joey added.

“Would you use your tongue?” I threw out there, to which he and Joey took a glimpse at one another.

“Okay, now we're gettin' interesting here, Lars,” Joey pointed out.

“We sure are.” Lars returned to me. “If only you want me to use a bit of tongue on you, Holly.”

“Tongue and teeth,” Joey added.

“Teeth?” Lars looked over at him.

“Teeth. You know. Li'l nibblin's and whatnot.”

Lars returned to me: in the dim light, I noticed his sticking his tongue out at me.

“So would you want me to use a bit of tongue on you?” he asked me.

“Are you gonna do it now?” I quipped.

“If you want me to.”

I lowered the cup from my lips. Chris was in the next room, about ten feet away, and here I was, caught up in the midst of a game of truth or dare gone wrong. Sure, I've touched myself during the thick of the pandemic given the extent of loneliness during that time, but I never exactly found my way to someone's tongue and tail. I nibbled on my bottom lip as I lay eyes on Lars' tongue.

I held the cup down to my waist. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“So where do you wanna do it?” I asked him.

“Give some tongue to you?” he clarified.

“Yeah.”

Lars put his arm around me and brought his mouth to mine. He hung there, his face as dark as the night around us. A soft clean aroma wafted off of his hair and the sides of his neck.

“You're such a good subject,” I whispered to him.

“And you are a great artist,” he whispered back to me as he pressed his lips to mine. A kiss in the time of the virus' return, and in front of Joey no less.

His little lips were plush and smooth and tasted of salt water. He was gentle in his touch, but then he pressed a bit harder. Next thing I knew he had pried open my mouth and slithered that velvet tongue inside. He ran the tip of his tongue over my teeth and all on the inside of my mouth. There was something weird and discomforting about it, and yet I liked the way his lips felt and I wanted more of that. He groaned inside of his throat.

“Well, don't choke 'er, Lars,” Joey scoffed. Lars pulled back and I gathered myself. The taste of his mouth riddled the entirety of my tongue and my teeth. I licked my lips and took a sip of tea.

“How 'bout gorgeous Joe over here?” he gestured to Joey's dark silhouette there next to us.

“What about him?” I teased him.

“Truth or dare, Holly.” In the dim light, I made out the sight of Lars' little apple cheeks filling out with the devilish grin on his face.

“Truth,” I said.

“Do you like his hair?” Lars asked me.

“Those corkscrews and complete mess all around his head?” I pointed out, to which Joey ran his fingers through the hair on the side of his head as if displaying a mane.

“The same.”

“Why, yes, I love his hair. I want to brush it, in fact.”

“Nah, you do that you'll get the brush stuck on the back of my head,” Joey warned.

“Can I at least run my fingers through your hair?” I asked him, and I thought to the room with the easel.

“If you wanna.” He showed me a lopsided little smile. I turned to Lars.

“Here, hold this for a second, please,” I told him as I handed him my cup of tea. He held onto the cup as I crouched down before Joey's shadowy face. I stroked the sides of his face: his skin was soft and smooth like fresh butter. He smelled of fresh coffee and soap.

I ran my fingers through those rich black curls on the sides of his head. So coarse and yet so soft at the same time. My fingertips ran over the roots of his hair near the back of his head and I brought my chest into his face.

I heard him gasp and then he followed it up with soft little groans from the back of his throat.

“I love your hair,” I whispered to him.

“I love your ladies,” he whispered back to me.

“You wanna draw on them, don't you.”

“Maybe. If you let me.”

The door slid open right then.

“What's goin' on?” Chris asked us. I jerked my hands back from Joey's head as if I had been burned.

“Oh, Holly was just fixing Joey's hair,” Lars filled in as he held out my cup of tea for me.

“What's even point of that?” Chris teased me with a chuckle.

“Just wanted to see if I could do—” I was cut off by his pressing his lips to mine. Completely out of the blue, he kissed me. His smooth wavy black hair brushed against the sides of my face: his lips grazed over my own like little feathers. Joey and Lars gasped.

He gazed into my eyes with a smile on his face. I fluttered my eyelashes at him.

“—it,” I finished; Lars handed me my cup of tea from around Chris' side. Even in the dim light, I made out the sight of his stunned expression.


	18. Chapter 18

“Quite the nice evening, isn't it?” Chris began. Joey and Lars had returned back inside to the speakeasy to get ready for bed. I finished my tea and Lars was kind enough to take my cup for me; the chamomile had warmed me enough to where I wanted to call it a night myself. I was about to call my parents about what was going on there given I wanted to sleep in my own bed that night. And yet I wanted to spend the night there with them. I wanted to have a little slumber party of sorts. That sort of thing felt like such an unknown world to me, given I had come of age during the pandemic. Slumber parties and even so much as hanging out with boys, it felt like something out of science fiction to me.

Granted, I had had parties over a screen but it wasn't the same. It didn't have that visceral feeling that all of those old movies with teenagers seemed to put on display. Then again, they were works of fiction, but I knew in my heart of hearts that it was a real thing, a real thing that happened before my time.

I sighed through my nose as I gazed up at the inky black sky overhead.

“Yeah, it really is,” I said and my voice trailed off.

“What's wrong, Holly?” he asked me in a kind tone of voice.

“There's—just a lot on my mind at the moment,” I confessed to him.

“Well, go ahead,” he encouraged me as he kept his voice down low. “Share your mind.”

“The virus is coming back,” I said as I dropped my gaze to the street below us. “It's coming back and hungrier than ever.”

“Yeah? And?”

“Don't you wonder what could happen with our parents?” I asked him.

“Always,” he replied as he folded his arms over the top of the rail. “During the worst part of the pandemic, I started thinking about children especially. Like by the summer's end, I was actually feeling glad that I haven't had kids yet.”

“Yeah, it—seemed kind of dicey to be in school at the time,” I muttered: I had flashbacks to when I started school again and I felt like the only person who was wearing a mask and willing to stand six feet away from the person next to me in the lunch line. I told my mom about it and she took me out of school thereafter: I always learned better on my own anyway. And yet I daren't tell him about it. Not yet anyway.

I knew there had to be a point in which I had to tell Chris the truth about myself, and I knew that day could very easily be my birthday. It had to be my birthday. I had to come clean with him on my birthday.

“But I just remember thinking,” he continued, “'god, all those little kids in elementary school are coming home covered in finger paint and the virus—' I can't imagine being a parent at that time, much less a parent at all.”

“I wonder about how it gets people like us,” I confessed, “you know, it makes its way into our brains and causes us to have strokes.”

“Right. And not strokes like the strokes of your paint brush.”

I chuckled at that.

“Now, now, that's a different type of stroke,” I assured him; I turned my head for a look at him. The shadow of the night hung over him like a dark veil: the glow of the street lights down below and the lights from the speakeasy behind us gave him this eerie, almost ghostly glow to his already milky skin and his face. He knitted his eyebrows together at me and showed me a pensive expression.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” he asked me in a near whisper.

“Mayyyybe,” I teased him, to which he snickered.

“I wanna strip for you and be your model,” he stated.

“Oh, I see. You wanna get down and get nekkid for me.”

“Unless the both of us get down and get nekkid together then it's out of the question,” he teased me.

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“I dunno.”

I burst out laughing at him, to which he set a hand on my shoulder, and then he slid it down onto my upper arm. He slithered his fingertips about the fabric of my jacket as if feeling out the fabric. That outermost layer of fabric rustled underneath the tips of this fingers.

“Like what you feel, Christopher?” I teased him. He leaned his head in closer to my face as if he was about to whisper a secret into my ear. I caught a whiff of that soft soapy cologne on the side of his neck.

“What are you doing?” I asked him in a hushed voice. He didn't reply, but instead he brought his lips to mine. The skin was smooth and soft, like the skin on the side of a cherry. He sighed through his nose as he followed it up with another kiss. Two more.

On the fifth one, he brought a hand to the back of my head. I could feel his fingers making their way into the roots of my hair at the back of my head. I took off my jacket and let it fall onto the chair Joey had sat in before then. I surrendered: I was alone there with the boys and I was looking at eighteen regardless of what happened between us that night.

I could feel it between us, a weird tingling sensation that told me we were going to go places after this little round here. At least if sex ed ever taught me anything useful and I ever learned anything from touching myself. I knew the meaning and I stood at the threshold of the game and Chris was about to play that game with me.

He and I were about to paint something together: I was his canvas and he my paint brush.

“Touch me,” he whispered into my ear.

“Where?” I whispered back.

“You know where.”

Everything was dark save for the light from the street and from the side; I reached down to undo his jeans. My fingers slipped on the button but I managed to undo it and then zip him down. The sides of his jeans sagged down his hips: I could hear them fall down his thighs. I reached down his shorts to feel his warm flesh. Warm and smooth, much warmer and smoother than that on his lips.

“More?” I asked him.

“Please.”

I reached down to feel that length there: wet like the tip of a brand new paint brush.

“Your fingers—gently—”

In the dim light, I made out the sight of his eyes closing. I didn't know what to do so I figured I had to follow his lead instead. I fondled him right down the length towards the wet end. I was gentle like how he wanted.

He parted his lips and let out a soft moan.

“Deeper,” he begged. “Use your hands. Your whole hands.”

I did just that and he moaned again: at one point, he gritted his teeth and groaned inside of his throat. He jerked back and staggered towards the other side of the porch. I followed him down onto the floor. He landed on his ass and then he fell onto his back: in the dim light, I noticed his jeans bunched around his knees and his lower legs. My heart pounded at the sight of him. He was right there on display for me.

All for me.

“Let's get down to brass tacks, babe,” he grunted out. “Be the artist. Be my artist.”

I knew what this position was just by hearsay. The Amazon.

But I wanted to call it The Artist instead because he was my paint brush and I served up the canvas. I took off my jeans and set one foot on his right side and then the other foot on his left side. I sighed through my nose: I could feel it between my legs. It wasn't as damp as I wanted but it was more than worth it. It was Chris: it had to be more than worth it.

I sank down over his erection. It felt like sitting on a cucumber, a hot moist cucumber, such that I jerked up.

“What? What's wrong?”

I swallowed. I didn't know what to say. I was afraid to tell him of my inexperience. But then—

“Oh, you need some warming up?” he asked me.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Tell me where you like it.”

“My tits.”

“Show me.”

I peeled off my shirt and I had exposed my bra to the outside world.

“You're gonna make me do all the work, aren't you?” he teased me. I felt him reach around my back to the hooks. I felt it loosen. It slid down my arms. I was naked.

I felt his lips brush on the tops of my breasts. He ran his fingertips over the nipples. I felt them tighten up: his touches made me think of feathers. It tickled but I could feel myself rising. Moistening. Breathing harder.

“Good?” he asked me.

“No,” I quipped. He touched me some more. I sank back down on his erection. It slid inside as if there was nothing to it. I gasped, but he put me on top.

I shifted my hips to and fro. He never took his fingers off of my tightened nipples.

I was growing wetter. He was growing softer, or so it felt like anyway.

He grunted. I closed my eyes.

Get off here? Get off here.

I let out a noise that sounded like I had been running a mile; he made something that sounded like that, too. I lifted off of him and he muttered something to himself.

“What's—Is everything okay?” I asked him as my voice broke.

“I'm glad you got off me when you did,” he groaned out.

“Why's that?”

“I came so much right now—holy shit.”

I didn't dare look behind me but I did climb off of him. My lips ached from the grinding. I could feel something trickling down the insides of my legs.

“Oh, shit,” I muttered.

“Is everything okay with you?” he asked me.

“I have to use the bathroom—” I adjusted the straps on my bra and rehooked it at the back. I turned back to the rail for my shirt and my jacket: I put my jacket back on but I used the shirt to cover my crotch area. I scooped my underwear up, and I hurried off of the porch and doubled back into the speakeasy. Their voices followed me down the hall to the bathroom.

Sure enough, once I found myself in light, I saw I was bleeding. Lucky for me, I had learned how to make my own pads once the hysteria over toilet paper during the pandemic had died down, and pads and tampons had taken off of the shelves. I lay my shirt on the counter next to the sink basin and took a seat.

I slid my panties back on plus a temporary paper pad on the inside there. I stood back up to wash off the inside of my legs when I heard a knock on the door.

“Holly?” Chris called through the panel.

“Hang on, Chris,” I said to him: I wondered where the washcloths could be as I used a bit of paper to wipe off the blood from the inside of my thighs.

“I've got your pants, though.”

I tossed the bloody paper into the trash can and then opened the door about an inch for him. He cradled my jeans in his hands for me as if he was bringing me a bouquet of flowers. I felt my face grow warm at the sight of him and those black curls tousled back from his face.

“Thank you,” I said to him as I opened the door a little bit more and I took my pants.

“Also, hurry up, I gotta take a piss.”

“Gladly!” I assured him. I closed the door to put on my pants and then wash my hands. My ass and the inside of my thighs ached from the act but I had crossed the threshold. It was only the beginning of the game for me from there.

I made my way out of the bathroom and he showed me a sly grin and a wink. I giggled at him and then I made my way down to the end of the dim hallway, towards the large room where I could hear their voices. It happened to be across the hall from the painting room: I stepped inside to find Will, Joey, and Lars down on the floor atop three sleeping bags; the latter two were closer to the right wall of the room while Will was in the middle of the floor. They had set up a hurricane lantern between them: the entire room was bathed in bright and almost neon bluish white light.

“Did Stoney and Dave go home?” I asked them as I left the door ajar behind me. There went my ride.

“They sure did,” Will told me with a smile and a pat of the sleeping bag next to him. “Have a seat! We were just telling ghost stories to one another.”

“Are you alright?” Lars asked me. And then I noticed I was walking funny.

“Yeah, I just—” I started. “—I just a had a moment while helping Chris turn off the lights.”

“Oh, I see,” he said with a grin on his face.


	19. Chapter 19

Will was kind enough to let me cuddle up next to him as he nestled down in his sleeping bag. I told him that I wanted to be next to somebody warm and soft, at least until Chris showed up: I slid my bag up to his side. At least he smelled good, like he had just climbed out of the shower. The hurricane lantern shone over his dark skin and bestowed it a healthy glow. There was still a part of me that wanted to sleep in my own bed that night, but I wished for some soft touches, some gentle feeling. I almost didn’t understand it.

I gazed over at Joey, who had his back to the wall. Lars nestled down right next to him there on the floor. The light from the lantern bathed them in that soft but radiant white light to where I could make out the softness and smoothness of their skin: Lars was like a little rag doll while Joey resembled a young Indian chief, a leader without his crown of feathers. His black curls sprawled over his bare slender shoulders like the tentacles of an octopus. Lars meanwhile, had already snuggled down with the sleeping bag pulled up to his ears as if he was freezing. It was a little chilly in that room, but not chilly enough to warrant a feeling such as that.

I lay down on my back in the sleeping bag next to Will and sighed through my nose. I gazed up at the dim ceiling and the blue and white glints of light spread across the shadows. I thought of Stone and Dave's garden out there in the darkness, and I wondered how they were going to fare with the virus returning with a vengeance.

The door swung open and Chris stepped into the room right then: his black curls glistened in the bluish white light from the lantern in the middle of the room. The skin on his bare lower legs shone as if made of bone china. I lifted my head for a look over at him: I could feel my face growing warm at the sight of him.

“What's goin' on in here?” he asked us as part of his greeting.

“Just chillin',” I told him.

“Also just gettin' comfy,” Joey added as he adjusted the sleeping bag over his chest. Chris pushed a bit of hair behind his ear and then he ambled across the floor towards me: he had taken off his shoes and he smelled of soft soap. In fact, I took a second look at his head and I spotted his hair was drenched. He took a quick shower after he and I had sex on the porch a little bit ago.

He sank down to the sleeping bag there against the wall next to me.

“So when do you think Dave and Joey's mates are going to arrive here?” Lars asked him.

“You askin' me?” Chris knitted his eyebrows at him.

“Yes.”

“Not sure. Stone was supposed to tell me but he never did. I'll call Dave and see what's up in the morning. But for now, let's call it a night.”

He lay his head down on the little pillow there: I peered up above him at the sight of the tiny window on the wall. I had just noticed that window, too: it looked like one of those little attic windows in a three story house.

“Oh!” He snapped his fingers.

“What?” Will asked him as he rose up from his sleeping bag to switch off the lantern.

“Tom did pull up to the curb outside,” he added. “I saw him making himself at home in the front room out there.”

“Tom's here?” Lars raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah. He's wearing a mask, too, so I'm sure he'll be in there, in the next room, for the night.”

Chris lay his head down on the pillow as Will reached forward to turn off the light. I heard Joey sigh through his nose as Will turned that little black dial on the base of the lantern.

Within mere seconds, the room had blanketed out in darkness.

However, there was a faint glow of the full moon burgeoning outside of that tiny window overhead. I already missed my parents, even though we weren't that far from my house. The whole idea of a sleepover was so alien to me, so strange, given I left the house whenever deemed necessary during the thick of the pandemic: it seemed like such a strange concept to leave the house for a prolonged time without them. I always thought of myself as autonomous, like I could go about the day solo with just my drawing pad and my sketchbook and make a living making art, but I knew I was put to the test here.

Having sex with Chris proved to be a hell of a threshold for me, but this was something else for me. I closed my eyes and sighed through my nose. I relaxed there on the floor right next to Chris and about another three feet away from Will, and another four feet from Lars and Joey.

I dozed off for what I thought to be a few mere minutes.

I woke up to the feel of something right next to me. Something soft and silky.

I cracked open my eyes to behold Joey's faint dark silhouette laying right next to me there on the hard floor. In the dim light, I noticed his hands folded upon his flat stomach, like he was waiting for something. I had rolled over onto my side at some point, so I lay within an inch from his shoulder and his side. My lips ached from where I ground away on Chris earlier.

“Joey?” My voice broke.

“Mm-hmm?” My eyes came into focus and I noticed he had closed his eyes to protect them from the incoming moon light behind me.

“How long have you been laying there?” I whispered to him.

“About ten minutes. I wanted to—em—” He cleared his throat. “—get closer to you.”

He opened his eyes, a pair of deep black holes staring out to the darkness. Lars let out a noise that sounded as though he had snorted from laughter but then he smacked his lips and groaned in his throat. In the dim light from the street, I made out the sight of the Joey's eyes as they stared up at the ceiling. The shadows blanketed his face but the sight was apparent to me. He missed his home: I could sense it.

I rolled over a bit and looked back at Chris laying right there right behind me. A tendril of his inky black hair covered his face and the milky glow from the moon washed over him. He resembled an actual moon child, a boy straight out of the arms of the Mother Moon. I returned to Joey and his handsome full face.

“Did you at least bring your pillow over here?” I asked him.

“I was just thinkin' of gettin' up and gettin' it,” he confessed. He cleared his throat again. He rolled his head over a bit to look right at me: those brown eyes swallowed me whole. He and I were alone. The only ones awake in that room, and for all I knew we were the only ones awake in that whole speakeasy.

I made out the shape of his pouty dark lips: smooth like melted chocolate.

“Do you think we could ever get this place off of the ground like what Lars keeps promising?” he whispered to me.

“I hope we can,” I answered. In the darkness, I made out the silhouette of his Roman nose pointing straight up. He lay there on his back right in between me and Will. I lowered my gaze to his lanky beautiful body, blanketed in darkness: I paid close attention to especially those slender elegant thighs. I wasn’t sure if it was the fact I had had sex with Chris, but something inside of me wanted to get down on Joey and kiss the inside of those thighs. The darkness only made him look more decadent to me. I had already seen him for art—perhaps I could blur that line with him. I almost did that with Chris; but Joey was gentle and mysterious, and with soft silky skin to boot. I heard him swallow and then sigh through his nose.

I really had hope that we could get that speakeasy off of the ground and I could make a niche for these boys and their friends. The power resided within my hands. All we needed was to actually roll up our sleeves and get right to it. And it all started with those paintings of Joey and Lars in the room across the hallway.

“Can I, uh... confess sump'n to you?” he whispered.

“Go ahead,” I assured him. “Your secret will be safe with me.” I lifted a hand out of the sleeping bag to touch him. He swallowed again. It couldn't be that bad.

“Joey, listen to me,” I began, “I know what it's like to be alone. I know what it's like to feel anxious and like everything is coming to an end. After the pandemic, I made a promise that if something is truly important to a new friend to me, I'll take their deepest darkest secrets to the grave with me. We all lost trust then. We all went through the motions—and someone like me took it the worst because it’s hard to be an artist. It’s hard to be a musician—but we both create for a living. We should start with trust. So...” I ran my fingers down his upper arm: that soft skin felt smooth like a fresh stick of butter underneath my fingertips.

He rolled his head over for a look at me.

“I saw you kissing Chris and—I'm not gonna lie—I wished that was me kissing you.”

I blinked several times at him. My mind went blank. I didn't know what to say to him right then.

“That was too much, forgive me,” he pleaded. “I'm too much, Hahlly.”

“No,” I assured him. “No. No, no, no, no. Joey, no. You're not too much. I promise you.”

He was silent. The room remained silent still. Tom’s light snoring floated down the hall into the room: the sole noise in there.

“Joey—” I started. I inched closer to the side of his face: the gentle musk from his neck tickled my nose. I never got my cuddles from Chris: I put my arm around Joey’s chest. He didn’t move as I brought my lips to his neck.

I gave him a gentle little kiss there on the side: soft and smooth, softer than the skin on his chest. Something about it tickled me. I was holding and kissing him in the dark.

“You’re the right amount,” I whispered into his ear. “You’re so gorgeous.”

“But why were you kissing Chris, though?” he asked in a breathy voice.

“I just wanted to see what he was like before I came home to your lovely flesh,” was all I could think of. I just wanted to keep kissing him. I just wanted to cuddle with him and his little body.

“We gotta be careful, though,” he whispered.

“Why’s that?”  
  
“Will’s right here,” he gestured to Will’s silhouette right next to him. “Y’know—he could wake up.”

“Let ‘em look at us,” I insisted. The bout on the porch awoke something in me: I wanted Joey to be right next to me. I wanted to touch him and feel him. To feel the beauty of his body right up against my own.

I heard the zipper on the sleeping bag slide down. I felt his bare foot brush against my leg. He slithered inside of the sleeping bag and lay up against me. His hand rested on my hip, and I could feel him running his hand along the curve of my body.

“I’ve seen you,” I whispered into his face.

“ _My eyes have seen you_ ,” he sang in a delicate breathy voice. I slipped my hand up into the roots of his black curls, which, much to my surprise, felt downy and silky smooth. His flat belly pressed against my own. “ _My eyes have seen you... my eyes have seen you stand in your door. Meet inside, show me some more... show me some more..._ ” He let out a soft airy moan from the back of his throat. Hearing that soft moan summed up what I was feeling on my end. The feeling of his body pressed against me and we were wrapped up safe in this snug cocoon under the bright moonlight. He was so soft and warm and delicate that I surrendered to him. I had had sex with Chris, sure, but I was blurring some lines and painting with Joey’s essence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> included lyrics to my eyes have seen you, one of my favorite doors songs 💜


	20. Chapter 20

I awoke to darkness as well as the feeling of something soft and plush right next to me. And it took me a second to realize that it was Joey pressed up against me: his slim little body had coiled up tight right next to me and his coils of jet black hair spread over my head and shoulder. His left hand had made its way onto my hip; despite being so thin and sparse in flesh, he was as warm as anything. His heartbeat moved at such a gentle and steady pace and his heavy breathing only made it all the more soothing. Like sleeping with a teddy bear that made the best white noise.

At some point during the night, I had put my arm around his delicate waist and rested a hand on his upper back. He was so soft and gorgeous that I almost didn't want to let go of him. I leaned my head in closer to his chest for a better hearing of his heartbeat and to better absorb his warmth and comfort.

Sure, I had had sex with Chris but Joey gave me something else. Something that went further than a funny photo at sunrise and something that went further than a good night kiss. His smooth skin felt like a sheet of clean silk and his flat belly had this inviting warmth to it, like on those winter nights when I would eat a lot of dinner and curl up underneath the blankets in my bed. He reminded me of a time I was alone and I had no one to talk to other than my own mind; all the times things were cancelled and I was told I had to stay home, even before things went to hell. He reminded me of a quiet spot away from the world.

He groaned in his throat and rolled over onto his back, or at least he attempted to do just that. The zipper from the sleeping bag kept him pressed up close to me. He groaned again. He wanted out of there—I could sense it.

I opened my eyes again and lifted my head out of there to face the waning darkness. Joey groaned in his throat again.

“Hang on, Joey—hang on—” I whispered to him. He parted his lips and sneered at the tight feeling around him.

“Hang on,” I insisted as I kept my voice in a soft whisper. I inched my way out of that sleeping bag even though it was bit of a struggle; I reached behind him to undo that zipper for him. It slid down the teeth and he rolled onto his back and on the hard floor.

“Ow,” he murmured. He groaned again and opened his eyes. In the dim light, I noticed him looking over at me like a prince.

“What time is it?” he asked me in a broken voice.

“I'm not sure—almost sunrise.”

“Okay…” He lifted himself onto his elbows and tilted his head back to show me his trim neck and fine collar bones. Thin and elegant.

He parted his dark lips about a hair as he returned his gaze to me.

“Would you like some coffee?” he offered me.

“I'd love some.”

I turned my head for a look back at Chris, who was still sound asleep and had never moved from his position there underneath that little window. I looked past Joey at Will and Lars, both of whom were still sound asleep themselves.

Joey stood to his feet and hitched up his pants. He hung there for a second to wait for me; and I crawled out of the sleeping bag, and stood next to him, and gazed into those deep rich brown eyes. A curled lock of black hair fell onto his shoulder and onto his chest.

“Like what ya see here?” he teased me with a shy grin on his face.

“Such a beautiful boy,” I remarked. “Absolutely gorgeous.” I nudged the hair off of his shoulder and his collar bone, and I lowered my gaze to his chest. I had no idea if it was my aching ass or the fact it was still early talking but he looked a lot more lush than normal. I showed him a smile as I lifted my gaze back up to his face.

“So very gorgeous,” I repeated, to which he returned the favor with a little smirk. He gestured for me to follow him into the hallway and then into the next room, where we were met with Tom's continual snoring.

“Six feet away—six feet undah,” Joey muttered as he led me into that kitchen. He ran his fingers through his black curls and then he yawned. I turned on the overhead lights: pure white light shone down upon his head and that thick mop making up the crown.

“Where _is_ the coffee maker?” I wondered aloud.

“'Dunno,” he confessed with his eyebrows knitted together. “I swore I saw one in 'ere yesterday—” He yawned again and rested his hands on the bottom hem of his shirt. He froze as he looked on at me.

“Mind if I take off my shirt?” he offered.

“Not at all,” I said to him, even though I had no idea why he would do that; he lifted his shirt and stripped it off of his slender little body. I felt my face growing warm at the sight of him.

“Allow me to reiterate—like what ya see here?” he teased me as he slung his shirt over his shoulder. To be pressed against that slim gorgeous body again and to touch him again.

My ass was on fire but I needed to touch his chest again. To feel that silky smooth skin. To feel his softness and his love in the time of corona virus.

“Let me love you,” I breathed and I lunged for him.

“Come home to upstate, baby doll,” he beckoned me in a husky voice and with his arm outstretched. “Come ta me—”

“Only if you come home to Hollywood, baby boy,” I retorted to him in a soft whisper. I put my arms around his delicate little waist and pressed my lips onto his. Still warm from the sleeping bag. The skin on his waist was absolutely silky; he backed up towards the wall and I relished this to assert myself. Chris awoke something in me the night before; all I wanted was to touch and feel and blur the line between pure art and pure sexuality.

Joey kept his head pinned to the wall: I ran my hands down his chest to feel his smooth soft skin some more. I wanted to capture this moment here, to be right with the paint brush in hand and with the palette right in front of me. I wanted to bring this here to life on canvas even with each and every kiss to his lips.

He held the side of my head with one hand and gazed into my eyes.

“What's the matter?” I asked him in a hushed voice.

“What if Tahm wakes up?”

“Let's go in the room,” I quipped.

“Which one?”

“The one I painted in.”

He raised those black eyebrows at me.

“Oh, you wanna—?” To which I nodded and showed him an eager smile.

“Okay,” he whispered and he ran his tongue along the edges of his teeth. His brown eyes twinkled with excitement like a pair of fire opals even as I backed away and switched off the light. I led him out of the dark kitchen and past Tom, who never stirred for one second there on the floor as we skirted past him and doubled back to that room with the easel and the paintings in hiding.

Joey closed the door behind him and tossed his black curls back from his shoulders to show me some more of his chest. I was warm and dizzy. But I needed to focus on the easel and the paints before me. He showed me his tongue as he sidled over towards me. He showed me his hip bones with every step across the floor; and it took me a second to realize he had undone his jeans while we were going down the hallway.

He raised his arms over his head to show me some more of his body and his hips.

“Oh, Jesus fuck, you're so fucking hot,” I blurted out. “Get down on the fucking floor, you complete and total babe of a man.”

“Oh, you want me ta get down an' pose fer ya like I'm some kinda Adonis or sump'n?” he teased me and I couldn't help but giggle at that.

“How 'bout—you get down here?” I gestured to the spot underneath the easel. I even stood up for him to take his place there.

“Ya wanna see me orgasm, don't ya,” he purred. I didn't answer as he slunk down onto the floor. I nudged the stool out of the way but I knew that wasn't going to be enough. The crown of his head was almost right underneath the paint tray, which meant I was going to stand right over him.

“Ya wanna see me orgasm, don't ya, Hahllywood,” he repeated. I stripped off my jeans: the cold air in that room tickled me and sent shivers up my bare legs.

“Hahlly?”

I stared down at his round darkened face and those black curls fanned out from his head. Even though he was so slim, he had a little double under his chin, one that I wanted to cover in kisses.

“Hold still, baby,” I coaxed him. I thought back to the night before and what Chris had taught me. I had to be soft and wet to let him in; I stripped off my shirt and took off my bra to expose my nipples to him. He raised his eyebrows at me.

“Oh, ya wanna—li'l—”

“Uh-huh,” I encouraged him. I held onto the paint brush as I knelt down over his waist. He raised a hand to touch my nipples. His fingers were gentle and delicate like watercolor paints. It was like he was finger painting on my breasts. Indian finger painting. His tongue slithered out from those dark lips; meanwhile, I could feel myself loosening up and moistening up again between the legs. I breathed harder and harder as he moved his fingers down onto the full part of my breasts.

“Paint, baby boy,” I beckoned him.

“Speak fer yourself, girlie,” he teased me with a smirk on his face.

“Like you're finger painting!” I felt something underneath me. He was about ready himself.

“You wanna?” I offered to do his jeans.

“Allow me—” But he didn't understand that; instead, he peeled off my underwear.

“Wanna stir some paint?” was all I could think of.

“Only if you wanna do the stirrin'.”

With my free hand, I undid his pants and lowered down onto his dick. The hard floor hurt my knees perhaps more so than the sore spot between my legs so I lifted up a bit to bring myself in a squat position.

“Oh, damn, you're kinky!” He gaped at me as I gyrated over him. It was hard on my knees but it beat kneeling down on the floor. He breathed harder with each and every movement.

“Fuck—” he gasped. “Fuckin'—fuckity—fuck!” His voice heightened to a tiny squeak; maybe if it wasn't so early, I could get him to shriek like how he does on an Anthrax song.

Amazingly, I still held onto the paint brush the whole time I ground on him. It felt like my chest was about to burst. It was rising through me, from the base of my spine and upwards, like a bead of watercolor paint. I lifted up before he reached the top himself. I lunged for the paints on the tray and spread the colors across the easel.

Joey gasped and huffed as I painted the round shape of his handsome face and the tight coils of his black hair. He pinched his eyes shut given I had stopped him from orgasming. He looked like a little Indian boy who had reached the utmost level of euphoria and was begging for more. It was funny: it was as if whenever he reached the top, I reached it there with him. It was like our bodies were in sync with each other; I felt his rhythm where he led the way like a little Indian chief.

But I wanted to tease him some more. I reached a spot on the painting when I stopped and sank down on him again for some more gyrations. He rose higher and higher and before I came to my climax, I lifted up to halt him right in his tracks.

“Call it—” he sputtered. “Call it—fuck—call it 'the artist'—fuckly—”

“The artist fuckly?” I teased him as I sank down on him again.

“God—damn it all straight to bloody hell!” he blurted out as I brought him back up again. I knew he was going to come at some point, so I added in another gyration to cut him loose. I lifted up right as he tilted his head back and let out a soft moan. I kept the paint brush in hand as I leaned over his body, absolutely raw and exposed like how an art model should be.

“Mmm, good boy,” I told him in a soft voice. He gasped for air.

“You're—You're—” he stammered.

“I'm what?” I asked him as I hung over his face. He opened his eyes and gazed at me with his lips parted and his skin coated with a beautiful healthy glow.

“You're naht showin' that fuckin' paintin' in the gallery,” he finished.

“What, the one I just made?”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn't planning on it,” I assured him with a wink. “No one needs to know that you and I became the artist for a few moments in here.”


	21. Chapter 21

Joey ran his fingers through his black curls once he stood back upright next to me. It was like he had been put inside of a spin cycle and then hung out upside down: his face was flushed and warm with a nice glow from our encounter. He showed me the cute little hole in his teeth as he flashed a grin at me.

“Wanna see, though?” I offered him as he put his shirt back on.

“Ya know I would,” he teased me. Nothing could deny the look of utter euphoria on his face, between his parted lips and his closed eyes, between his hair fanned out from all around his head and the fact I had painted his neck down to the crease near his collar. I made sure his skin was as smooth as it appeared in person, but I knew for a fact there was no way I could show this in the gallery. Not with people congregating in there. Not with Chris in there.

Joey let out a low whistle and ran his hand down his chest and his stomach.

“I'm ready for a full on breakfast, dunno 'bout chu,” he confessed to me.

“Fill that gorgeous little belly with all kinds of good stuff?” I teased him.

“Really wanna—a, uh, cuppa coffee right about now.”

“A cup of Joe?”

“That's cup of Joey to you,” he corrected me, to which I giggled at him.

“So where should I put this painting here?” I asked him.

“You gotta hidin' space in here somewhere?” he retorted.

“Yeah, over by this table here—I've got the other one of you tucked away in here.” I took the painting off of the easel and headed over to the table. The paint still had plenty of time to dry off, which meant I couldn't tuck it away in that cubby hole underneath the surface. I inched closer to the corner of the table so as to lean the painting against the table leg: it would appear to be just another painting in that room and out of sight, out of mind. I arched my back just a little bit but I knew it was enough for him to have a view of my ass.

I could feel him watching me as I slipped the painting behind the table legs.

When I stood back upright, I brought my hands to my back pockets so he could fixate on them. Even though I was still underage, I wanted him to have a look at me. I wanted Chris to have a look and I also wanted Joey to have a look.

“Take yer time, baby doll,” he encouraged me.

“My ass is a work of art, isn't it?” I said back to him as I ensured the painting was safe behind the table legs.

“Your ass and your back, too. I just wanna run my fingers down the curvature o' both. Yer like a—a, uh—I wanna say a sculpture. I wanna touch you like you would a sculpture.”

I lifted myself up and whirled around to face him.

“Not now, big boy,” I scolded him.

“But we're both artists, though,” he insisted.

“Yes, but every good artist needs to have a full tummy first before he or she does anything, though,” I pointed out. “I've known that since the shortages during the pandemic.”

“Good point.” He winked at me and kept his smile at a slight angle. I pursed my lips at him as if teasing him with another kiss, but I just meant to tease him. I was awake and open because of him and Chris. I thought about wagging my ass as we walked out of there together, but I heard Chris' voice floating in from down the hall. I need not risk it right then.

But Joey was generous enough to put his hand down my back pocket. I lurched away from him and giggled given his fingers tickled me.

I slipped out the door into the dim lit hallway. I turned my head to see him licking his lips and rubbing his chest. He eyed my chest.

I giggled at him again as I made my way down the hall to the front room. I felt him touch my hips: his right hand made its way up to my chest.

“God, you're horny right now,” I scoffed at him.

“Well, yeah, I just had ya ridin' my fat Italian dick like it was available for a joy ride. And—y'know—you're the only set'a tits 'round here at the moment. I gotta find a way to lay my head on them dirty pillows.”

“Shhhh!” I hissed, given Chris and Lars were within earshot there. I almost burst out laughing at that, too.

“Ya keep doin' it like that, I might just have a plate shaped dildo waitin' for ya,” he chided, and I had to physically stop myself from laughing my head off. I turned the corner and we were met with Chris and Lars themselves seated at the table with Tom, this short stout guy with long wavy black hair, a little goatee on his chin as it jutted out from underneath his black mask, and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. All three of them had white bone china mugs in hand: once I entered the room, I smelled the aroma of fresh brewed coffee as it emerged from the room behind them.

“We might have to do that thing that they did when they were reopening shit,” Chris was suggesting to Lars.

“Nah, if we're gonna do that, I'd rather we just keep things intact and open whenever we feel like it,” Lars pointed out as he took a sip of coffee. “You know how it went during the first time they reopened things here in the States.”

“Look what the cat dragged in, too,” Tom's voice was muffled by the thick fabric of the face mask. Chris and Lars lifted their gazes to Joey and me as we entered the room.

“There they are!” the latter greeted us with a smile and a raise of his mug.

“What was going on in that room there?” Chris asked me as I breezed past him for a mug of coffee myself.

“Joey and I were just doing a little art demo of sorts,” I quipped off the top of my head.

“Making beautiful art together,” Tom joked to which he and Lars chuckled at each other.

“Nah, she was the one makin' the art—I was just being a good boy and lettin' her show how it's done,” Joey said in a single breath. He lingered behind me there at the cupboard, to which I handed him a white mug for himself. I picked one for myself and poured us both a cup from the karafe.

“Also, Dave's here,” Chris told us.

“Dave from the garden?” I was stunned that he and Stone would arrive so early.

“No, redheaded Dave,” Lars corrected me. As I poured in the cream, I looked out the glass doors at the sight of him entering the room with a transparent oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. I noticed the oxygen tank on his back. He was this tall lanky guy with a head full of long flowing fiery red hair down past his shoulders: the lights from the ceiling shone down on his head to give some extra radiance to the lighter hairs so it looked as though he wore a golden crown atop his head. Even from behind the oxygen mask, I noticed his red lips had a slight pout to them as if he was born to beckon a kiss out of someone.

“I didn't think you'd get here this soon,” Chris confessed to him.

“I didn't think so, either.” Dave sounded as though he stood behind an intercom speaker given the thickness of the glass. “But I winged it on the late night train and boogied up to Vancouver before I ran out of air.” He spoke a quick clip, a striking contrast to Chris' gentle voice, Joey's Italian New Yorker drawl, and Lars' crisp European accent. I stirred the cream in my coffee as well as Joey's mug and then he showed me another little smirk.

Dave pressed his hands to his hips.

“Man, you guys should see all the burn scars down in California,” he remarked. “The whole state's been scarred, save for like a few places here and there. Remember all of those fires during the thick of the pandemic?”

“How could we forget?” I said upon entering the room.

“All scarred and barren—kinda like this speakeasy here. Where there's scars and vast patches of a whole lotta nothing, there's opportunity to start fresh.” He knitted his eyebrows at me. “I didn't catch your name?”

“Dave, this is Holly,” Chris introduced me. “Better known as Hollywood Sherman.”

“Oh, yeah, Holly! I remember hearing your name getting thrown out there. You're the artist in question.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip at the phrase “the artist” as I recalled on the move I pulled on both Joey and Chris.

“So we're all gonna be building this place from the ground up?” Dave asked us as he approached me and Joey.

“Well, it's technically under my direction,” I explained. “I want to help these guys get to new places which will in turn help me as an artist.”

“Oh, I see, like a synergistic kinda thing,” he followed along. “And what better way to do it, too, than with a whole lotta nuthin'!”

“Exactly! The only thing standing in our way is making sure we're running on all cylinders, though.”

“Well, I can't really do much because of this tank here—I recently recovered from a throat tumor as well as the virus so I've been put on oxygen for the time being. I'd be more than happy to act as the glue, though.”

“But otherwise,” I said as I took a glance about the room. “We're all here. Just gotta wait for Will to wake up and find out if Dave and Stone are coming today.”

“Just gotta see if we're all willing to do it, too,” Chris added.

“I think we can, yes!” Lars declared as he took another sip of coffee and rubbed his hands together. “Let's get on it!”


	22. Chapter 22

I kept the ladder steady as Lars made his way up to the ceiling to hang up a couple of mobiles. Every so often, I peered over my shoulder to the sight of Dave and Chris seated at the table, the former of whom kept his gas mask on over his mouth. They were talking about the fire scars down in California and all over the corridor en route to here to Seattle.

“It's like scars on the flesh of someone you love,” Chris remarked. “You want to kiss it and love it and relish in the raw beauty and tenderness of it.”

“Exactly!” Dave declared in that voice made hollow by that face mask.

Joey and Tom both had gone off somewhere, like they had separated into two completely different directions. When Joey left the room, I kept my eyes fixated on the backs of his thighs and the way in which his slender body curved from behind. An absolutely beautiful curvature for a beautiful boy. I thought of employing The Artist onto him from behind and yet I wondered how that would even go about. Maybe I could sit my bare ass on his bare back as I paint the back of his head. I could ride him like a horse! No, the dirty Indian boy that he was!

I could refer to that as “the Reverse Artist”.

I also thought about employing the same moves on Chris when we had the chance to be alone again.

As Lars stood on the penultimate step so as to hang up the mobiles, I shook my head about. What was happening to me? This was such a change for me compared to when we all met. Granted, I knew it was from the first encounter but it was as if Chris and I had not only unlocked the gate and threw away the key, but it had been stuck open. He had wedged it open with something and now I couldn't help but blur the line between getting down and dirty and getting my hands dirty with paint.

“Holly?” Lars said to me. “Are you paying attention?”

“Huh?” I peered up at him. “Huh? What?”

“Could you hand me the screwdriver on the table right behind you please?”

“Oh—yeah.” I turned my head to see the red handled screwdriver rested upon the top of the table. I swallowed but I couldn't let my thoughts bleed over onto the tapestry of reality. Using one hand, I still held onto the side of the ladder and then I used my other hand to reach for it. The length of the screwdriver made me think of Chris and Joey.

Both of them as firm and hard as the metal shaft over the side of my hand. Both of them slid right inside of me as if they both fit me perfect. Chris was warm where Joey was gentle. Chris had blanketed himself in shadow where Joey allowed me to paint him. Both of them shrouded in everything and nothing as I gave them my canvas.

I swallowed again as I handed Lars the screwdriver. He showed me a little smile, to which his cheekbones filled out like round little apples. I wanted to kiss those little apples. Just cover them with kisses because they looked so soft and sweet. So kissable!

I nibbled on my bottom lip as he reached up to adjust the mobile, which allowed me to see up his shirt and in turn his slightly rounded but toned stomach.

I thought of Chris laying there on the porch, how he let me touch him and feel him. I then flashed on Joey there on the floor before me, as beautiful as an Italian painting. Both of them as precious as the very stomachs that held them both together and to which they took care of in such a time as this.

I couldn't let my thoughts bleed over onto the tapestry of reality. Or could I?

He peered down at me, again with that smile upon his face.

“We shall be ready to roll out in no time,” he assured me.

“Hey, Lars? Holly?” Dave called out to us.

I turned around right as Lars began his way down the ladder; he and Chris had stood to their feet and looked as though they were about to head out somewhere.

“Yeah?”

“Stone texted me and said he's bringing us something to eat,” Chris replied in a single breath. “We're just gonna walk down the street here.”

“Oh, okay,” I told him with a nod of my head. The two of them wrapped themselves back up in their coats—Chris put his mask back on over his face before they both headed outside to the gray morning. Once they had gone, I returned to Lars who ran his fingers through the hair on the side of his head.

“You look as though you want to tell me something,” he confessed to me. His Danish accent was crisp and delicate, like little fingers. Those little fingers on his hands down near his thick waist. His brilliant green eyes glimmered like little rhinestones back at me.

I nibbled on my bottom lip again and he squinted his eyes at me. I noticed the little egg shaped scar over his left eye, a little marking I never noticed before until then. I thought about Chris' remark about wanting to relish over scars on flesh on someone you loved. I wanted to do something about that little scar there. He inched closer to me, and he ran his tongue over his cherry lips to make them even more red.

“Maybe I want to tell you something,” I said in a deliberate tone, “but I'm not sure as to where to begin.”

He licked his lips again.

“Perhaps,” he teased me, “that could be plausible. Or perhaps you wish to be something somewhere—someplace.”

“Where can we go, though?” I asked him. “The pandemic's coming back and I don't know if either of us can return home.”

“Perhaps we can pretend,” he continued as he kept his voice down low and thus out of earshot from Chris and Dave.

“What'd you have in mind?”

“Perhaps we can nourish each other—like parent and child.”

My heart skipped several beats at the sound of “child.” I was still a child and I knew he was older. Much older. But I wanted control. I wanted to be the one on top. Chris and Joey allowed it to happen. Surely I could make some arrangement with Lars here.

“How'd you like for me to call you baby boy?” I blurted out.

“Me? Baby boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if I am baby boy then that makes you—” He brushed my lips with such quick of a kiss that if I blinked long enough, I would've missed it. “—my mother.”

“Do it again,” I commanded him.

He kissed me on the lips again. I thought about holding Joey around his slender little body. I also thought about kissing Chris on the porch. But there was something else here even as I brought my hand to his chest. It overcame me as I stroked him down.

Not skinny like Joey. Not toned like Chris. Soft like the both of them. And yet there was something else. Some more softness, like a homey feeling. Like laying in my bed on a rainy day during the thick of the pandemic.

He pulled his head back for a devilish look right into my face.

“You know, they say walking under a ladder will produce seven years of bad luck,” he pointed out. Indeed, he and I stood almost right beneath the top part of the ladder.

“What about laying underneath a ladder?” I asked him.

“Perhaps the luck gods will be on our side,” he quipped. He lashed his tongue and sank down onto the floor underneath the ladder. Just like Joey laying underneath the easel in the next room. Flat on his back for me just like Chris.

I lunged down towards him to undo his jeans. I wanted to try something else. I wanted to tease him.

I let him hang out before me but I stood to my feet. I held onto the edges of the ladder so I loomed right over him like I was about to dominate him. Lars lay his head down on the floor so I could see the scar at its brightest right above his eye.

“What are you going to do?” he asked me in a husky voice.

“I wanna—feed my baby,” was all I could think of for him.

“I'm hungry, Mother,” he begged at me. I knelt down before him as if I was watering some kind of plants. Using a new paint brush. Watering a fledgling plant.

I put my lips around the head. It tasted salty but the skin was firming up underneath my lips. I had to keep going. And I wanted to venture in a new direction anyway.

I bowed my head for more of a taste. Salty but clean. I smelled some kind of lotion on the skin, especially as I neared his body.

I kept going in until the tip reached my gag reflex. I almost coughed but I caught myself. I pulled my head back and went in again.

Lars let out a soft pleasured groan in response. I thought of continuing on past this but I also wanted to keep this at this given Joey, Tom, Dave, Will, or Chris could walk in on us at any given moment right then.

I accidentally brought down my teeth onto the taut skin but he let out a delicate little squeak in response to that.

“Oh, yes! Do that again!”

I sank my teeth into the skin again and he showed me a smile twisted with utmost glee in response. I wondered if he was going to get off any time soon and thus I pulled my head up off of him. He lifted his head for a better look at me.

“I want to do that to you next,” he said in a broken voice and those green eyes glimmering.

“Gladly,” I promised him as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“But we can't be seen together like this, though,” he whispered to me.

“Of course,” I whispered back to him. Lars reached forward and extended his pinky finger at me.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” I hooked my pinky around his.

So that was three boys I was banging before my eighteenth birthday. And neither one knew about the other.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Your fear is what I've suffocated; your lie is what was fornicated.  
>  Mother playing the game; father playing the game; my lover always the same.  
> But when you stand back and look you are the only one to blame."_  
> -"Dead Poet", Butcher Babies

Lucky for us, the virus hadn't returned to full force there in the Northwest at the moment which meant I could return home and sleep in my bed that night. Unfortunately, Joey still couldn't go home and Lars wasn't willing to risk leaving Washington state so as to go back to San Francisco. I didn't think it was fair to either of them given so many people travelled throughout the pandemic just so long as they kept their masks on their faces. At least that was according to Dave, whom I began referring to as “red Dave” to differentiate him from my gardener, whom I referred to as “blond Dave.” Tom also said the same thing, but with a caveat.

“All the times I travelled throughout the pandemic, I probably saw more people not wearing masks than people wearing 'em.”

“Yeah, me, too,” said red Dave, “so I think it's best that, if either of us are to travel, we do it alone in a car, or we do it in stints. Which means it'd be a royal pain in the ass to get back to upstate New York or even some place close by like San Francisco.”

Meanwhile, blond Dave and Stone offered to take me home as part of their trip down to Portland to bring in some new seeds. Before we left for Tacoma, I turned to Joey, Lars, and Chris as the three of them stood before me on the sidewalk with looks of concern on their faces.

“Be safe,” Chris told me as he put his arms around me and kissed the side of my neck. I looked over his shoulder right as Joey's face fell and Lars nibbled his bottom lip and shifted his weight. Caught in between three boys.

“Please be safe,” Chris whispered into my ear.

“I'm going to,” I vowed to him as I turned to Joey and Lars. The former put those long Italian arms around me and I wrapped my arms around that slim little body. As soft and warm as ever. I put my arms around Lars and he rested his chin on my shoulder.

I still had yet to pull The Artist on Chris, I realized as I climbed into the back seat behind Stone. I waved at the three of them but before we could pull away, Joey approached the window to catch my attention. He bowed his head for a look right into my face: stray tendrils of inky black curl caressed over my arm.

“Call me when you get back,” he said in a low voice.

“I will,” I promised him, to which he winked at me. I showed him a smile as I put on my seat belt and my mask. Joey bowed out and blond Dave pulled away from the curb. Red Dave and Tom were back inside of the building so I was met with faint waves behind a pane of glass as we headed off down the freeway.

While it was good to finally return home to Tacoma, and although I was close by, I couldn't help but miss them. They were my friends. And moreover, I had made quite the connection with Joey and Lars. It wasn't that long ago I wondered if there would ever be a soul I could form a deep connection with and walk with together to the very end. Now I had three boys who had fulfilled that wish. For me to love and befriend even in the face of a deadly virus as it returned to pandemic levels.

But at the same time, I couldn't help but feel guilty as I was lying to each of them. I was lying especially to Chris. I hated the fact that I had lied to Chris. I lied right to his face, and yet I wanted to make it right. I wondered if I could do a plan of sorts to break it to him, and do it in a way that was easy on the both of us as blond Dave pulled up to the curb. Like before, we were down the block from my house. Headed our way was a burly guy with a buzzcut walking side by side with a pregnant woman, who was also holding a baby in her arms.

“You guys stay safe, alright?” I told them as I climbed out of the car.

“You, too,” Stone advised me; he lifted his mask from his face to flash me a wink. Blond Dave flashed me the sign of the horns before he pulled away from the curb. I stood back and watched them off in the opposite direction: they were going all the way to Portland, a city I hadn't been to in what felt like forever. I was about to turn back towards my house with the mask on over my face.

“I'll meet you back at the house, honey,” the guy was saying to his wife.

“Okay, pookie pie,” she said, which made my stomach turn a bit. He kissed her and then he stooped down for a kiss on the bump. I watched her cross the street with that baby in her arms and I wondered what was going on there. I returned to the guy who had this intense look upon his face. He looked like a baked ham that had been pulverized with a shovel, like that haircut did not flatter his head at all. The fact he wasn't wearing a mask perturbed me a bit.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked me in a low monotone of a voice.

“Um, sure?”

He towered over me, like a giant among us mortals.

“How can I get a girl like you to go to a show with me once live music comes back into fruition?”

“But, I don't know you,” I told him with a bit of a chuckle. I tried to step past him so as to head back to the house but he stopped me right in my tracks.

“Well, yeah, I know that...” His voice trailed off.

“Do you want me to give you some of my art or something?” I suggested to him off hand.

“If you'd like. Unless you're an art dealer.”

“I'm not an art dealer,” I promised him. “I draw and paint stuff and swoon over boys and that's about it.”

“Good to know. So tell me. What can I do, though?”

“You can start by getting out of my way first,” I commanded as I slipped past him. But he held onto my arm as I was about to get away from him.

“I have a boyfriend!” I pointed out.

“I bet you do,” he sneered.

“I really do,” I insisted as I waved him off. But he was too strong. His fingers hurt: even though the fabric of my jacket, I could feel the calluses on the skin. He was a guitar player.

“Go to live music not make it?” I asked him.

“It's one thing to make it, it's one thing to fake it.” I had no idea what that meant so I tried to get away again. He yanked me in.

“I saw you looking at me,” he sneered.

“I was looking past you,” I corrected him.

“Uh-huh, sure. I always wanna nudge girls like you with my boots.”

“Yeah, but you have a wife, though,” I pointed out.

“She's not my wife,” he said.

“Why'd she call you 'honey', then?”

He didn't reply. All I could think about was how he kissed her and then her big protruding belly.

“Who is she then!” I cried out. He shoved me into the bushes. I held onto my mask. I wasn't going to lose it over this. Not this.

“I'm like a shotgun down your throat,” he growled as he loomed over me. I landed on a web of branches, right on my back. He was bigger and fatter than me, like the possessive flesh fusing behemoth straight out of _Stranger Things_. Melted people together no matter who they were or if they were dead or alive and grew bigger and stronger in the process. Possessed their minds to bend to his will.

And now he was possessing me and eating me alive. He slammed me to the ground and kept me pinned to the hard surface.

“Scream and you die,” he growled; his breath smelled like an old ashtray that had been used as a toilet at some point. I pinched my eyes closed. I could see him on the back of my eyelids. It hurt and not in the way it hurt me like it did with Chris. He didn't go in with ease like Joey or Lars.

His body was hard and bulky, and I missed the comfort of Chris, the delicate softness of Joey, and the boyish sweetness of Lars.

I popped open my eyes to look at him dead in the face. Broad daylight as he ground away at me. Right into those luminous eyes and the indentation in between his eyebrows. Right at that straight nose. Right at that crooked mouth. Right at that cleft chin.

I wanted to punch him in the face, in that big belly of his, but he had too much of a grip on me.

I knew I was going to remember him for the rest of my life for what he did to me, even as he let me go and I was able to run back home. Lucky for me, I was alone. But unlucky for me, I was alone. Alone with that memory and without anyone to talk to.

Or so I thought.

I picked my phone out of my coat pocket and dialed Joey's number.

Everything was a blur after that. All I recalled was Joey's upstate accent and his gentle voice twisted with concern.

“Hahlly! Hahlly! What happened? Tell me. Tell me everything.”

I sniffled. It was so real and so vivid that it was hard for me to even so much as enunciate the words. It was one thing with him and Chris, but I didn't ask for this with that strange man. I was sincere when I told him I would give him a piece of art as maybe a means of telling him to back off, and he didn't listen to me.

“Hahlly?” Joey's voice broke on the other end.

“I—I was raped,” I whispered to him. There was a gagging sound on the other end and I only knew what that meant.


	24. Chapter 24

I was on the phone with Joey for what I had originally hoped to be a few minutes. Instead, a short amount of time wound up being several minutes. My mind was a blur and he was a mess: we had to console each other. It turns out he didn't actually puke but it felt as though he was about to.

“I've got the worst stomachache after hearin' that,” he confessed to me. “Of course, it pales in comparison to what happened to you, though—” I could hear his throat tightening up at the thought. It was without question that he didn't take the news so easy. I tried to calm him down even though he was in tears. I wanted to be there with him, to assure him that I was okay, even though I saw the image of that man over me every time I blinked my eyes. I wanted to snuggle with him. I wanted to put my arms around his little body: helping him would help me, too, I was sure of it.

“Do—Do ya wanna video each other?” he asked me in a near slurred voice. “I wanna see you but I can't necessarily leave the speakeasy, though. Will does have a desktop computer in the back room—I'll use that.”

“Yeah, yeah—lemme grab my computer and bring it up. I'll add you to my list so we can chat better. Sit tight for me, okay?”

He sniffled. “Okay, okay—I'm just jbelladonna,” he said. “No bullshittin' around, you know?”

“Oh, yeah! Is it all lowercase like that?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I still had yet to video chat with Chris so to add another boy's name to my chat list made it seem so odd. I was going around with another boy, without anyone else knowing, and at that point, I was to have a little virtual meeting with him.

All of those memories of meetings with my old teachers came back to haunt me as I opened it up. Turning things in at weird times of the day and having things like the sound drop out during a class session, it all lingered within my memory like a horde of ghosts, which coupled with the memory of the incident on the street only added to my anxiety. I also witnessed the memories of watching Anthrax and Metallica on live stream, too. Looking into Joey's brown eyes gazing right back at me, even as he was on the other side of a screen and thousands of miles away.

I sang back to him. I had to whisper sing given my mom was right down the hall working on the phone, but I sang back to him.

I plugged in the name and called him.

His dark handsome face appeared before me. He hunched his narrow shoulders to which he rested his chin upon those sinewy strong hands. His fluffy curled bangs dangled down over those brown eyes, now bloodshot from crying. I wanted to hold him right then and there as I put on my earphones.

“So what the hell was this guy thinkin'?” were the first words out of his mouth. “'I'm just gonna come to these two women and go out rapin'' like some twat waffle?”

“I have no idea,” I confessed to him with a shrug.

“What'd'you say he looked like? Tall and pudgy?”

“Tall and porky, rather,” I corrected him, which made him giggle.

“Porky!” he declared with a break in his voice.

“Porky as all hell. Porky like my pussy.”

“Oh, damn.” That got even louder chuckle out of him.

“Made my pussy leak and so now he's havin' to clean up with a mop and bucket behind his wife's back.”

Joey covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. He leaned back in his chair and hunkered down to hide his face, but it was no use. He let his hands off of his mouth and he burst out laughing.

“They say laughter is the best medicine, Joseph,” I declared.

“The hell it is!” He lifted his head up and gave his black curls a toss back from his face: I loved how round and full his face got when he wore a large and genuine grin like that. Perfect for kisses. It was the very sight of his round face wherein I had an idea.

“I oughta draw something right here while I'm at my computer,” I suggested; I had done a couple of demos for my art teacher when I was in school and if nothing, that was the only thing the video app never screwed up whilst in operation. “You know. Do a live drawing session with just you as my audience.” He raised his eyebrows at me.

“You gotta,” he encouraged me with that cute lopsided little smile and a lean forward to the monitor screen. “Do it. It's in you. It's in those hands. Those fingers. The slimy, smarmy fuck-ass has got nuthin' on you.”

“Did you just call him a 'fuck-ass'?” I had to laugh at that.

“Yeah, 'cause he likes to fuck and he's an ass. He raped my girlfriend—” He put a hand over his mouth, but the word had already slipped out. I gasped. That rich flush of warmth bloomed over my face and the reddish hue to his eyes returned.

“Did—” I sputtered. “Did you just—”

His brown eyes grew large, like a pair of marbles. I didn't move. I couldn't breathe. And then he lowered his hand to show me his trembling bottom lip: those same dark lips as smooth as candy.

“I think I just did,” he confessed in a near whisper.

“Joey, I—” I pursed my lips together. “I—I don't even know what to say right now. Oh my God.”

“I'm sorry,” he said in a small voice.

“No,” I insisted. “No, no, no, no. Don't be. Please. Don't be. You—You feel that way about me. Don't be sorry, Joey. Please don't be sorry.”

He swallowed and he bowed his head at me: he rested his hands in his lap. He was adorable already, but even cuter and sweeter when the cat was let out of the bag. I had to show him a smile. Even after having been enraptured on the street a little while ago and hearing him go nuts over the phone about it, I still came out of it smiling. I still came out of it feeling butterflies in my stomach at the realization that Joey liked me.

“So... ya wanna—ya wanna do that for me?” he asked me in a sweet voice.

“Yeah. Sure thing—just let me get my pad and my pen and plug everything in.”

“Plug it into the hole?” he teased me.

“Plug it into the hole, yes!” I laughed at that as I reached to my right for the black bag holding the drawing pad, the cord, and the stylus. I hooked up the pad to the computer and then opened up my drawing app. I also turned on the option for split screen so he could watch me.

“So whaddya wanna draw up?” he asked.

“Well, since—that—happened, I'm thinking something of catharsis. Something that'll take the pain away. Something for me to reclaim control of everything.”

“Control of the mind, body, and soul.”

“Exactly! My mind—” Using the stylus, I drew down the girl's head on a square that was a very dark shade of orange for some added intensity. Her hair swooped back behind her head, like the streamers of a curtain in a high wind. Every so often, I glanced over at him as he watched me with intent. He rested his chin upon his hands and his brown eyes watched my every move on the screen—even when I switched pens and when I chose selections to color her in.

“My body,” I said at one point as I sketched down her body, slender and full of curves. As I reached her breasts and the space between her legs, I felt my shoulders and my back tighten up. My lips still ached from where it hit me. So forceful. So hard. So wrong and leaving me without any sort of grip on anything whatsoever, and yet there I was holding the pen. Still holding the pen.

He looked over at me without moving his head. He knitted his eyebrows at me.

“Are you alright?” he asked me. I sighed through my nose.

“Hahlly?”

I pursed my lips together again. I swallowed and sighed through my nose again.

I managed to draw her hips and the naked insides of her thighs. I changed the color to red. Bright fiery red.

I sketched down roses between her legs: I colored in the petals with a rich shade of red, the color of red wine and my poor lower lips. I kept my eyes fixated on the drawing; out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Joey hadn't budged or lifted a finger. He was hypnotized by the sight of it.

I gave her the full treatment with the airbrushes and even a couple of copic pens for the finishing touches; I gave the flowers all a rich bright glow. The control was mine. The light was within me. Within time, I had a naked lady against a dark background with fiery red roses in between her legs and bright pearly white lilies upon her nipples. I thought of Dave and Stone and their garden; I knew I would have to sneak in there at some point and be alone with the flowers. It would give me some time alone, to really reclaim myself and stay in with the earth.

I signed my name at the bottom and leaned back in my chair. Joey lowered his hands and raised his eyebrows at it.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. I set the pad down on my lap and let out a low whistle. I gazed on at him.

“You should get that printed and put it in the gallery,” he suggested.

“You—You don't think it's too heavy?” I asked, mortified, to which he shook his head.

“Hey, if it was healin' for you, it has'ta be healin' for someone else if they wish. Just watchin' you do it calmed me down a great deal.”

“What would Chris and Lars think?”

“Just tell 'em what happened,” he suggested. “They gotta know what happened to their artist. They'll understand, too—especially Lars.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. Hahlly, trust me—they're like me. We're all a buncha guys who love what we do an' love the people who make us who we are. They'll understand.”

He hesitated there for a second before I heard something in the background.

“What was that?”

“I think that was Will—” He craned his neck back for a glimpse into the main room. “Yeah, it is. This is his computer, too. I dunno how he'd react to this, if I'm honest.”

“Wait, what about him?” I asked him.

"What about what? Oh, you mean..."

"Yeah."

“Better if you tell 'em in person, if you ask me," he requested with a nervous swallow. "I don't wanna tell him.”

“I don't blame ya." I took a brief glimpse down to the floor. "So—talk later?”

“Of course! Call me any time, Hahlls. Day or night, rain or shine—makes no difference to me as long as I get to hear your voice and you get to hear mine.” He was about to talk off his earphones and sign off when I stopped him.

“Also, Joey?”

“Yes?” He hung there with his hands over his ears.

“I love you.”

His face softened and his shoulders slumped a bit. Those brown eyes turned to liquid, like rich hot chocolate.

“I love you, too,” he said back to me in a clear voice. “And get yourself to the ER if ya haveta, too.”

“I'll try,” I promised him, and we both signed off at the same time.


	25. Chapter 25

I kept the drawing to myself for about a week. Joey was the only one who knew about it, but I swore to him that I would never share it with either Lars or Chris or even my parents. He was the first person I had told about it after all; he vowed to be by my side, even if he couldn't actually physically be there by my side. He and I had a video chat every night for about a week, until Lars called me and invited me back to the speakeasy for something.

“Yeah, 'cept he won't tell me what it's all about, though,” Joey told me one evening: he had just climbed out of the shower so his black curls glistened in the blue light of the computer. It also looked as though he wasn't wearing a shirt, either, so his hair sprawled down his chest like the rich mane of a dark lion.

“You just want me to come back up there,” I teased him.

“Well—if it's not too inconvenient,” he said with a shrug of the shoulders. I chuckled at him.

“Yeah, you just wanna see me again.”

“Well—I gotta confess to ya, Hahlls: I miss havin' you up here.”

“It's only been a week, though,” I pointed out.

“A week can make the difference, though. The first time I was away from my parents for a week I started missin' 'em after a couple of days.”

He tucked an inky black curl behind his ear and showed me a lopsided little smile.

“So when's he coming down to get me?” I asked him.

“I think Dave an' Stone are comin' to get ya. I think. I gotta ask him first.”

“I'll be lookin' for them, then!” I was about to take out my earbuds when he stopped me.

“Oh, an' by the way—Hahlly?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything. Being you, cuddlin' with me, bein' a friend to me—y'know. All the things that warrant a thank you.” He flashed me a wink and kept the lopsided smile intact even as we both signed off in unison.

I woke up the next day to a clear crisp morning and the aroma of fresh coffee. All my conversations with Joey had given me some peace of mind but I was still in need of something more. Some sort of relaxation method. I hoped that, whatever Lars had in store for me, I could take the chance and reconcile with myself in the meantime.

Indeed, it was Lars himself who picked me up at about a quarter to eleven and gave me a little thing of donuts in the meantime, even though I assured him I had already breakfast.

“So what'd you wanna do with me?” I asked him. “Especially since I thought Dave and Stone were coming to get me.”

“You shall see,” he assured me with a wink; even underneath his mask, I could make out the sight of his smile. Lars drove me all the way down the spine of Washington: at one point, I spotted Mount Hood off in the distance, a large cold stone point against a flat plane and with nothing more than pure white glaciers and wispy clouds surrounding it.

We crossed the cold bluish gray Columbia River and the stateline into Oregon and the north side of Portland. I peered out the window to behold the sight of the rich green rolling forests as they stretched out towards the coast. Lars took the exit leading into the northwest side of the city: I made out the sight of the river as it wound its way through the heart of downtown. We reached the first stoplight and I spotted a lush green garden at the end of the block.

“That's where I am taking you,” he informed me with a point of his finger from the rim of the steering wheel.

“That garden up there?”

“Yes.”

“What's in there?”

“You shall see.”

The light turned green and we rolled forward down the block. I wondered what was behind that fence as the morning sun dipped behind the wispy clouds as they wafted off of Mount Hood. Lars pulled up into the parking lot and swung a right so the passenger door faced the front gate. I recognized Dave's streaky blond hair as it cascaded out from underneath his ball cap. He grinned at us as we climbed out in unison.

“Hey, you two,” he greeted us.

“So what's going on here?” I asked him, and he gestured for me to follow him into the garden. I ambled up the sidewalk with my hands stuffed in my pockets.

“Where's Stone, by the way?” Lars joined in; I noticed he had taken off his mirrored sunglasses to speak to Dave with some courtesy.

“He's—over there somewhere.” Dave pointed to the stretch of chain link fence at the end of the parking lot: the links struggled to hold back bunches of oleander bushes and a couple of weeping willows. Lars nodded and put his sunglasses back on; meanwhile, I followed Dave into the gardens. It was a lush maze of thick dark green shrubs and rose bushes: I noticed some bits of neon embedded in the branches of all of the plants. Little glimmers of bright blue followed us all the way to a section of dark soil in the midst of everything.

Large white and pink lilies sprouted all around the spot: their bases glowed with bright yellow tendrils which seemed to pulsate, like they were experiencing a heartbeat. To the right stood a low heavy stone bench with a few gardening tools: a small handheld shovel, a handheld rake, and a broom made of what appeared to be sticks.

Dave gestured for me to kneel down on the ground with him. He had dug a small hole in the dark soil.

“In the heart of the pandemic,” he started, “I found more solace in this than anything. It especially helped me after Nirvana and I felt like I was in a fog. It helped me 'ground myself' so to speak. I needed some grounding before I went ahead and even considered doing music again.”

I knelt down before him. The soil was soft but not too plush from the previous watering.

“What's this?” I asked him, and he nodded to the bench. I peered underneath it to find a small ceramic flower pot containing some near black soil.

“That?” To which he nodded again. I reached for the pot and held it out before me.

“What's in here?”

“Sunflowers. Two of 'em. And they're special 'cause Stone and I named them 'Hollywood sunflowers' after you.”

I gasped at that.

“There's four in the main garden up the road—they're all blooming like crazy right now. And we called it the 'Hollywood sunflower' after you because you're such a bright and sunny character for us. Bright and sunny even in the midst of a returning pandemic. Bright and sunny even in the midst of cold, burgeoning darkness.”

I felt my face growing warm and a firm lump forming inside of my throat. He then lifted himself onto foot so as to reach for the handheld shovel on the bench. I set the pot down on the ground before me. I then noticed a couple of small black buds rising out of the top of the soil: the morning sun made them glow that faint neon color. Careful so as not to break the soil, he used the shovel to dig out the wad of soil and transplant it into the earth. I watched him with intent for a moment, and then he stopped.

“Go right ahead,” he beckoned me as he handed me the shovel. I swallowed and then I took it for myself. Using the edge of the shovel head, I spread the soil over the clump and then smoothed it out.

“Now, watch this.”

Dave stood to his feet again and ambled over to some of the lilies on the right. He picked up a watering can with a narrow spout and returned to the patch of soil with it in hand. He crouched down next to me, and tipped the can over the soil, and some bluish clear liquid flowed out. It might have just been dyed water, but when it hit the patch and darkened the soil even more, the neon glimmers flared up and the buds expanded. They took root in the earth and raised out into the open air at the same time.

They didn't flower, but they did grow about an inch off of the ground.

“That was just a little bit, too,” he told me as he set the watering can down on the ground in between us. “Thing with these ones is they grow quickly with this liquid. Stone came up with the formula and we were able to grow more of those sunflowers up in the main garden in a matter of days. They blossom and adapt quickly... kinda like you.”

“Wow,” I breathed.

“The neon inside of them holds onto the earth really well, too. We both noticed that so we were like 'yeah, let's come up with sump'n quickly because these things are growin' quickly.' This one right here is all yours, if you wish.”

“I do!” I turned to him and threw my arms around him, and he returned the favor. I guessed it wasn't all bad after all. I had to take a picture of it and share it with Chris and Joey, and my parents, too. They had to at least know that I had a flower named after me.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"what shall we use to fill the empty spaces,  
>  where we used to talk?  
> how shall i fill the final places?  
> how should i complete the wall?"_  
> -"empty spaces", pink floyd

I was nervous to say in the least, more nervous than the thought of actually standing in the same room as this bunch of guys I had befriended and was now sharing the most intimate parts of myself. But it was actually real at this point. I had found myself at the helm of my very own art show, filled with prints of my own art. My head still spun from how Lars managed to organize all of this as quickly and thoughtfully as he did. Tom told me it was because he liked me: if Lars liked someone, he would move mountains for them. He moved mountains for his bandmates, therefore it made sense to move them five more feet for a girl he had a crush on.

But it still blew my mind that I was standing there.

My very own gig in the wake of a raging pandemic that was returning with a vengeance, once again standing at the end of the world.

I stood in between Joey and Chris; Lars wove about the floor with that black protective mask on over his face and maintained that distance apart from the people there. Will controlled the door as he donned a bright neon blue bandana atop his afro and a mask that resembled to a respirator from the Chernobyl accident: it was almost eerie to look at even from a distance, and yet I couldn't help but wonder where he had found it there in that speakeasy.

In fact, save for him, we all wore those black masks over our faces: Joey went the extra step and included a pair of glasses to protect his eyes. We were a few steps from the nearest faucet, and the nearest bathroom: I knew I was going to have to come clean to my parents about these boys here. These boys. My friends. My muses.

I thought about that sunflower down in the garden area there in Portland.

And the other sunflowers in their garden nearby.

Those Hollywood sunflowers.

I wondered if blond Dave and Stone were going to keep their promise and actually come to the gallery. Chris raked his fingers through his black curls and cleared his throat.

“So I got a message from Stone earlier,” he began.

“And?” I asked him.

“He said they're gonna keep those sunflowers safe for you. Those sunflowers that he and Dave had crafted out for you.”

“They better,” I told him with a smirk behind my mask.

Joey shifted his weight next to me. I looked over at him gazing over at Will and the door. I wondered what he was thinking right then, but not in this setting, though. There was no way I could bring it up to him right then and there with Chris standing right next to me.

Outside, I spotted the guy I had had the misfortune of meeting standing on the sidewalk. He faced the other way but I knew it was him. I would never forget his fat face staring back at me. I still had no idea what to say to my parents after the incident on the street, especially when memories of it kept returning to me every so often. They were fleeting memories but they were memories nonetheless. Joey was the one soul who knew about it—as far as I knew, blond Dave and Stone had no idea about it.

Lars doubled back to us with the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.

“We've got a good crowd tonight,” he informed me, even though there really wasn't a lot of people in that room so to speak. It was definitely remarkable for me given it was my first ever show. I could only imagine who else would be there the next night if all went well that night. I swallowed as I spotted Will letting my assaulter into the speakeasy. The whole incident made me think of a bear attack, and therefore Will let a bear into the building.

Even from across the room, I could feel the tension coming down on me. Joey shifted his weight again; he glanced over at me with a concerned look in his eye.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I just got a—kind of a weird feeling just now. This funny fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach.” I followed his gaze to across the room. Even without me telling him about it, I knew what he was thinking upon seeing... him.

I wanted to tell Will about him, but it was water under the bridge at that point. I was already in too much of a pickle at that point.

My mask felt lopsided, like it wasn't protecting me enough. Or it was protecting me enough, it just stuck onto my lips and my nose with a bit too much discretion. I needed to breathe.

I was already nervous before the show started, but now he strode about the floor like some big grizzly bear with the smell of blood on his paws.

Chris glanced over at me with his eyebrows knitted together.

“You alright, Holly? You seem tense.”

I swallowed.

“I need a moment,” I confessed to him.

“What is it?”

“I just—I need a moment.”

I ducked away from there and doubled back down the hallway to the painting room.

“Holly?” Chris called after me.

It was about to come to a head, if not there then at some point or another in the future. I had to let the cat out of the bag, about everything to everyone. Transparency and closeness is key when in the arts, and I couldn't even get that right. It felt as though a dead weight set upon my shoulders, and my feet weighed a thousand pounds each. I thought I would collapse onto the floor right then and there, but I never did.

“Holly—” His voice followed me down the hall.

For a second, I was disoriented. I was still a kid. Still a teenager. Still a kid, and yet it was all coming down on me. The pressure to be perfect and to do everything all at once, even in the wake of the virus. I wanted to be outside, to be out in the garden with blond Dave and Stone. Just be out there with them.

“Holly! Holly, what's the matter?”

I heard a man with a large husky voice in the front room which contrasted with Lars' squeaky Danish accent and I could only assume James was there. I was in such a mess of mind that I was missing meeting James! It proved too much for me to bear: I ducked into the painting room without turning the light on. I sank down behind the table, the one holding the paintings of Joey and Lars from the light of day. I pulled my knees into my body, peeled off my mask, and bowed my head.

The tears welled up. I couldn't breathe. The pain still riddled throughout me, even with the painting I had made for Joey.

At least my hands were clean on a literal level—I couldn't shake the feeling of the cold earth from the gardens and the paints from the paintings from the skin, though.

I bowed my head so Chris wouldn't have to hear me crying. But he heard me anyway.

“Holly! Holly, what's wrong?”

I pressed myself against the wall to hide myself, but he sank down next to me and snuggled closer to me. I felt him put his arm around me. I leaned my head over to his chest. I buried my face in his shirt and wept.

“Holly—” he breathed; I felt his hand on my back. His heartbeat and his steady breathing soothed me, but it was still almost too much for me to bear. Art had its power over me, but I needed to release it like this, complete with Chris cradling me in his arms. I knew I had to say it to him. It loomed over me.

I sniffled and raised my head to look up at him through the darkness. He too had taken off his mask: I could smell the soft soap from the bathroom on his skin. I brushed the tears away from my eyes. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed the thoughtful look upon his face.

“Holly—is there something you want to tell me?” he began. I thought about blond Dave and Stone's fears about being seen from the outside world. The first thing that came to mind was someone finding out about them. Someone asking me about them seeing as I was on the way to becoming a public figure in the wake of everything. No private life—personal life out in the open, and that included the gardens.

“I'm just—I'm worried about Dave and Stone down in the gardens,” I told him. On the other hand, there was no way I could tell him the full truth right then and there.

“They'll be fine, don't worry,” he assured me; in the darkness, I noticed those sensual lips upturning into a warm smile. I always wanted to see him smile more because it was so genuine, but even a small nugget of reassurance had its shelf life, especially given the extent of the dead weight on my shoulders. And that smile soon faded as well, given I was still showing him some tears and I felt my body shaking and quivering. Nowhere to hide, not even in the dark.

“There's something else, though. I can feel it. Like, somebody walked in and you got upset somehow. Like I heard you talking to Joey about it.”

I swallowed and I gasped at the sound of his name. Chris stared at me hard in the darkness.

“Are you and Joey—”

I pursed my lips together. I didn't want to say it.

“Holly. Are you and Joey together?”

I swallowed again and this time I actually could do it.

“I wouldn't say we are,” I confessed to him at a reluctant pace. Even in the shadow, his expression never changed for a second.

“Well, I ask you that because—I've seen how he acts towards you, and how he reacts whenever you come up in conversation. I just couldn't help but make assumptions about the two of you.”

“Chris—” I couldn't hardly speak from the tears in my eyes and the heavy hard feeling inside of my throat. I backed off of him, but I couldn't back up too much given the table was right behind me. Those paintings were right behind me: the one time paintings ever haunted me. The dim light from the hallway shone onto his face so I could make out the thoughtful expression still plastered upon him. In fact, it was my looking at him that calmed me down more than anything.

Calmed me down and even stunned me.

“You know,” he began, “when I was growing up in downtown Seattle, I was forced having to lie to people all the time.”

“You?” I asked him with a sniffle.

“Oh, yeah. Lie to people about my parents and their status—lie about where I lived, given there was a lot of drugs to go about—I even had to lie to cops a couple of times. My mom had pot plants outside and my brother and I had to hide them whenever a squad car came around the corner. I know what it's like to have to lie, and I know what it's like to lie to protect yourself. But like every sense of protection, you have to step outside of it every now and then to unfurl the truth. You have to—dare I say—be outside of the wall. So—”

He peered over at the door and the dim light shone in the whites of his eyes.

“Welcome to the outside of the wall. Kind of.”

“What are you saying?” I asked him.

“Does Joey know about you and me?”

“Not that I know of.”

“How 'bout Lars? It's the same story with him, too—I actually saw you guys screwing on the floor that one time.”

“You saw us?” I sputtered.

“Shhhh.” He brought a finger to his lips. “Yes. I didn't say anything because I wanted to see how far you two would go.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Holly, I like you. I like you so much that I'm willing to let you hang out with other guys. I don't want to be limited to one thing—it makes sense that I do the same thing for my girlfriend, too. But—does Lars know about us?”

“I—I don't know,” I confessed.

“Will does, though,” he told me.

“Will knows about us?”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah!”

And then Joey checking to see if Will was coming during our video chats made sense right then. But at the same time, it made wonder about Joey. It also made me wonder about Lars, too. Maybe they did know about us, but they, like Chris, wanted me to go about and have a little fun. We were all friends after all.

But I already gave Chris a valid answer, and on top of that, I had no solid proof that the two of them knew about us. I swallowed and brushed away another couple of tears.

“But let's keep it between the three of us, though,” said Chris in a low voice. “You, me, and Will. Joey and Lars can either figure it out for themselves or you can tell them because we are all friends here. If you tell them, I'll make sure Will gets the message. Don't worry about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

I put my arms around him again and he returned the favor. At the same time, I couldn't help but wish to tell Joey and Lars about Chris and Will's secret.

They deserved to know, too. I did paint and feel the both of them after all.

I moved my head back and Chris brushed a lock of hair back from my face, and tucked it behind my ear.

“Let's go showcase some art, shall we?” he suggested. I wondered if the bear was still out there. However, if he was, I at least had Chris to stand up for me. I could show him that he wasn't going to win, not with my boyfriend and three other boys standing on either side of me.


	27. Chapter 27

I was unsure if I wanted to keep it all under wraps, especially given our closeness and everything. But then again, it was Chris. He was the one with my heart firmly in his hands, and yet I made more of a connection with both Joey and Lars already. It was so intense with the two of them, and yet I had been with Chris longer. I needed to be closer to him.

And yet I could feel my body leaning more towards those two boys. I felt them both more than him. It was something about their body chemistry that lingered with me more. Joey's skin so soft and smooth, and Lars so submissive and yet willing to be on top at the same time.

Even being there in that room in the darkness with Chris, I thought of them both laying before me. Both of them. I couldn't explain it. I wanted it right there.

It was like somebody had broken the handle on the faucet. It was flooding through me like fresh water for a watercolor palette. I could feel myself salivating and flowing with that water.

I had a sense that Chris could feel it for himself. Even in the darkness, I could make out the sight of his lips curling up into a tight, sly smile. The tips of his fingers caressed up my side towards my shoulder. I lurched back. He tried to fondle me even though I backed away. His fingers were cold.

My heart was so young and naive, I knew for a fact. But I wanted it. I wanted it and I needed it.

I giggled at him. I climbed to my feet to tease him a little bit. It was too dark in that room there but I was willing to play with him. In the darkness, I watched him climb to his feet. I backed up towards the other wall; I caught the sound of his feet shuffling on the hard floor underneath us.

 _THUD_.

“What was that—?” I asked him, but I was cut off by the sound of paper falling onto the floor. Another _thud_ followed suit.

“Turn on the light for me, pretty please,” he suggested to me. Using the ambient light from the hallway behind the doorway, I made my way over to the light switch. I felt it up with the tips of my fingers and flicked it on. The pale yellow light washed over the room; I squinted my eyes for a few seconds before they adjusted to the bright light. I noticed him stooping down to whatever it was that fell onto the floor.

And then I realized it was the paintings of Joey and Lars. How they fell out of their hiding place, I had no idea.

But I made my way over to the table to help him, but the look on his face made me recoil a bit.

“Holly,” he started as he picked up the one of Joey; even with the back facing me, I knew it was the right one. “Holly... what's this?”

“They're paintings,” was all I could reply with.

“Yeah, but...”

“But?”

“But—is this Joey?” he asked me as he turned it over to show it to me.

I swallowed.

“Maybe.”

“Holly.” He looked unimpressed. I swallowed again: I felt so thirsty. My mind was blank. I had no explanation because I thought for sure those paintings were safe, but apparently that table had a loose leg on the side facing us: the shelf underneath the surface had collapsed which allowed the paintings to slide out from there and onto the floor.

I peered up at Chris again and the stern expression on his face. That painting of Joey was beautiful, but it was a private endeavor. Private and intimate. Between me and him, much like how that other one of Lars was between me and him.

Indeed, Chris stooped down to pick up the other one from the floor, and he raised an eyebrow at the sight of it.

I swallowed again, and that time it proved difficult to do so.

“Holly—” he sputtered.

“Chris—” I began, but my mind still remained as blank as a page.

“Holly, why didn't you tell me about these?”

“I—” He turned to me with his eyebrows still knitted together.

“I—I don't really know,” was all I could think of. “Wh—Why?”

“Those are fucking beautiful,” he told me.

And it felt as though a dead weight had been lifted off of my shoulders, much to my surprise.

“Y—You think so?” I stammered.

“I know so. Holly, these are gorgeous. The people out there deserve to see these of Joey and Lars. They're intimate and powerful—you know how song lyrics can be intimate and powerful.”

“Yeah...?”

“They're like on the same level of intimacy as song lyrics. The people out there need to see these.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He showed me a grin and nodded towards the door as if to coax me. I breathed out a low sigh and then I wheeled around, and out the hallway. He was right behind me with his mask back up over his nose and mouth, and the paintings cradled in either arm as if he carried in too many bags of groceries all at once. I led him back into the front room, but Chris was eager to put both paintings on display in the middle of the room. I tugged my mask up over my nose and mouth, and then I peered over my shoulder in time to bear sight of him placing both paintings on a pair of stools: apparently Lars and Will had dragged those over to the middle of the room, but the former neglected to tell as to why.

Instead he gazed on at Chris and Will arranging the paintings in their places on the heads of the stools. Joey strode up behind us with his hands tucked into his pockets; despite the mask on his face, I made out the befuddled look in his eyes.

“Holly, what the actual fuck,” Lars whispered to me. From behind his mask, his face flushed from the sight.

“He found them by accident,” I told him. It was the truth: those things fell out of their hiding spot by accident. Joey hunched his shoulders a bit, but he looked a little more adjusted about it than Lars did. Granted, it was quite the thing for me to deal with, but I wondered more about the two of them. It was the truth, and I assured myself that it was nothing but the truth. Chris must have kicked the leg of the table by accident and the shelf fell out. It was an accident, it was an accident, it was an accident.

But those paintings were no accidents, especially once Will flashed the three of us a thumbs up. Lars gave him a nervous nod while I watched Joey's chest rise and fall with a heavy sigh. My assaulter knitted his eyebrows at the sight of the paintings from clear across the room. He eyed me, Lars, and Joey with a bit of suspicion.

The power of art had more to say about him than it did me, and I was willing to show it off to him after what he did to me and had the audacity to come there to the speakeasy.

Yeah, this is what I do and if you think for one fucking second that I'm joking around, there's the door, you fat fuck.

He must have read my mind because he ambled closer to us. Joey huddled closer to me: there was a part of me that wanted to put my arm around his svelte little body to protect him, but I trusted in him, though. I noticed him relax when he moved towards the stools to check out the paintings.

I couldn't hear what my assaulter was saying to Chris; Joey inched closer to me, and I felt Lars do the exact same on my other side. I leaned my head to the side to pick up the words he was saying to Chris, who laughed at something he said.

I ached to know what he said. But then the noise in there died down a little bit, and just enough for me to hear—

“I want it.”

“Too fucking bad,” I said aloud.

He didn't hear me, and I was glad he didn't, either. Or maybe he did: he glanced in my direction and at the three of us watching him. Joey turned his head towards me with his gaze turned low.

“I'll sneak those two beauts back to the Eastern Seaboard with me if I haveta,” he assured me. “Those things must be protected at all costs.”

“I agree,” Lars joined in next to us. Chris lifted a finger to my assaulter and he took out his phone. He raised his eyebrows at the sight on the screen.

“Holly!” he called out to me with a concerned look on his face. He ambled closer to us so we could be within earshot.

“Yes?”

“Dave just texted me—Stone's not feeling well and they're both worried he might have the virus.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Joey blurted out.

“Yeah. Stone just left for the hospital but now Dave's stranded down in Portland and he needs to get home. He wants me to come get him.”

“You're leaving us?” Lars asked him in a playful tone.

“Just for an hour or two,” Chris assured us, “which means you guys gotta stay here 'til closing time.”

“Not a problem,” I told him. “It is my show after all.”

“Indeed!” Chris tucked his phone back into his pocket and then he doubled back towards Will; over the noise in the room, I caught the sound of them speaking to one another. The two of them made their way past us to the kitchen for the car keys and then onward to the back door.

Meanwhile, my assaulter glared at me. I had no idea what his problem was, especially once he doubled back towards the door with that sour look still firmly plastered on his gross face. Once he was back outside to leave the three of us alone with the patrons who had showed up to enjoy an art show, and I still wondered when my parents would be coming, Joey turned to me with his dark eyebrows knitted together.

“That guy looked like a wad of ABC gum, didn't he?” he joked with me and Lars.

“ABC gum on the bottom of a seat in a crowded movie theater,” Lars added with a chuckle.


	28. Chapter 28

“I want to thank you all for coming,” I announced to everyone in the room. It was nearly closing time and the three of us had put our masks back on over our faces given Stone might have contracted the virus, and the pandemic was returning in full force once again. I had to speak a little louder given the mask muffled my voice in a rather large place such as that; it helped that I had Joey and Lars on either side of me as like my guards of sorts.

Before I even so much as considered speaking, I had my hope that Stone was alright and that it was nothing more than a head cold or bad allergies.

I hoped Chris would return by the time my parents showed up to the gallery to come see the works for themselves. I wanted him there with me, like how I wanted Joey and Lars right next to me in the meantime as well. All of us there in the gallery to behold the sight of the art made in the wake of the pandemic and the virus' return.

But even as the final patron left the gallery, and Joey, Lars, and I were left alone on the far side of the room, I could tell it wasn't happening.

“D'you think we could take these off now?” Joey asked me in a muffled voice.

“Yeah, I think we can because it's just us in here now,” I told him in a single breath; using my pinky fingers, I peeled off my mask and showed both boys my tongue.

“Chris still isn't back,” Lars remarked.

“My parents aren't here, either,” I added.

“'Dunno where Will went, either,” Joey chimed in.

“There's not much to eat or drink here...” Lars' voice trailed off. He then turned to me.

“I wanna take you some place,” he told me with a twinkle in his eye.

“All three of us?” I asked him.

“Yes. It's a place near another place where we can find a pair of late night cups of coffee and tea.” He winked at me and Joey, and then he gestured to follow us out the front door. He slipped on his smooth black coat while Joey took his little fitted black leather jacket.

“Hang on, Lars, let me lock the door first...” I said as the two of them stepped out of there first.

“It's alright, Holly—it's about a mile from here,” Lars assured me.

“I'd rather keep this place secure, though.”

“Well, of course, but it is within our line of sight, though. I promise you.”

I swallowed and sighed through my nose. I figured it was best to trust Lars: he was the art guy after all. And I had an encounter with him after all. I closed the door behind me and I gazed inside of the gallery for one last moment before I followed Joey and Lars down the sidewalk. The latter led us towards the street corner, and upon turning my head to the right, I could see a little outdoor bistro made of pale brick there across the pavement. Beyond that stood a cluster of dark evergreen trees.

We crossed the street with the amber light of the street lights guiding our way. I pictured strings of Christmas lights suspended over our heads, albeit interwoven with big fat snowflakes courtesy of the Puget Sound. Lars reached the bistro first, which meant he put his mask back on first. Joey followed suit and then I did, too.

Lars was kind enough to buy the two of us cups of latte, while he bought himself a cup of black tea, and then we doubled back outside with the cups cradled in our hands. Nice hot drinks even though the night wasn't very cold, and it was quite the sight to see Lars bounce the tea bag in the hot water in the cup with the first two digits of his index finger: he then gestured for Joey and I to follow him.

“Where are we going?” I asked him as I peeled down my mask from my face.

“I will show you.” Lars padded down the sidewalk towards that cluster of trees. I spotted a ramshackle wooden picnic table on the other side of the bistro followed by a trail up a small slope. We used the light of the building and from the street to the top of the little rise. I spotted a low brick wall and I could feel the moist sensation of water being nearby. Water on top of more water, given life in the Pacific Northwest.

“Chris showed me this place the other day,” Lars explained as we made our way towards the wall; I made out the sight of little lights on the other side of the bricks as they glowed down into the water with a soft pearly white glow. “It's a manmade fresh water pond—although that's bit of a misnomer. It's rather large and not too far from being a lake given it has waves. But he referred to it as a pond, though.”

We took a few steps down the other side of the rise when Joey was quick to reach the wall. In the golden glow of the light, he turned around and leaned back against the top of the wall.

“Good place to be alone for a li'l while,” he remarked as he took a sip from his cup. I looked to the right: sure enough, we were in fact within the line of sight of the gallery and the top of the speakeasy. I recognized the roof and the top of the front wall beyond the bushes. I took a large sip of the latte: nice and creamy smooth, much like these two boys before me.

I cozied up next to Joey with the seat of my pants pressed to the top of the wall, too. Lars joined in to the right of me; in the dim light, I noticed him taking out the tea bag from his paper cup.

“Good call, Lars,” I said.

“Sometimes all you need in life is something warm and a bit of the cool night on your head.”

“I hope Stone's feeling alright, though,” I added.

“Oh, for sure,” he said, “and my hope is that Chris is going to be alright as well...” His voice trailed off, and the three of us hung out there with our butts on the edge of the wall for a moment before Lars spoke again.

“Will the two of you hang out here for a few minutes? I have an idea.”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” I told him.

“Go right ahead, Lars,” Joey added. Lars took another sip of black tea before he doubled back up the hill and into the light. He vanished out of sight when I turned around for a better look at the water behind us. I gazed down into the pond and the soft white lights underneath me. The sand under the water was solid black from the volcano not too far from there. I stared into my own dark reflection, at the ripples of the waters up against the walls. I glanced up to Joey and the soft handsome shape of his face as he peered over the shoulder at me. He took a swig of his latte and then he turned towards the wall to parallel me.

“Nice night, iddn't it?” he asked me.

“Quite nice, yeah. That's life in the Northwest for ya.”

“If you come to New York some day, I'll show ya Lake Ontario an' Finger Lakes, too. 'Bout like how it is here but there's more to it, though.”

He and I took swigs in unison, although he took a larger one on his part. I then looked on at him with the thought of the art show still fresh within memory.

“So you think you could take those paintings back to upstate New York with you?” I asked him.

“What, that? Nah, I was just sayin' that 'cause Chris was standin' right there right next to us.”

I took one more sip of the latte. Nice and warm but not overly hot, and sweet enough to hold me over until I ate something more afterwards. He downed his in another large gulp; Chris was standing right there with us. Of course. I thought about the times Joey and I spoke to one another over the computer. Of course, of course!

“Joey, there's something I need to tell you,” I began. He raised those dark straight eyebrows at me and his brown eyes were soft even with the surrounding darkness. He was so gentle and adorable, that I swallowed down the nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to reveal the encounters with Chris to him. Not to those eyes.

“I have... been wanting to kiss you all evening,” I sputtered. He showed me the tip of his tongue and his eyes caressed over my face. I set my empty cup on top of the wall and he did the same, too. I moved in closer to his body. Lars was nearby and within our line of sight, but I moved in closer to Joey regardless of that thought. He stared right into my face; I hesitated right there, unsure as to what to do.

“Kiss me,” he begged. I swallowed. My mouth was dry. My lips were dry. My stomach twisted and turned. My palms felt sweaty even with the cool night around us.

“Kiss me, goddammit,” his voice broke. I reached up to pat the side of his face.

“You're gonna have to catch me first!” I declared. “Catch me if you can, sexy boy.”

He showed me a smirk. I darted away from him and towards the trees. I was about to reach the one closest to me when I felt him tackle me.

I landed face first on the grass. I was quick to roll over to see him land on top of me; he tossed his curls back over his shoulder to show me his neck, bathed in the golden glow of the street lights and the lights over the water.

“Oh ho, boy,” his voice was warm and husky, “you just got into it with a hockey player.”

He brought his knees to either side of my body so he straddled me. He had me laying there on the ground right next to the pond. I could feel something firm right over my waist. Something firm and full. He leaned over me: all I could see was his silhouette and all I could feel was the tips of his beautiful black curls against my neck and shoulders.

Make love under the glow of the street lights and under the cold monolith of Mount Rainier.

I let him undo my jacket to expose my shirt. I felt him lift up my shirt to fondle the skin of my stomach. I gasped at the feeling of his hands there.

I felt his finger undo my jeans.

He brought his face close to mine again. His body was warm and sweet; his hair smelled so good.

“Yeah, you like that full feeling, don't ya, Halls?” he whispered into my ear.

“Speak—for yourself,” I stammered. He put his lips to my own and I put my arms around his slender body. He lowered himself closer and closer to me. Close like the feeling of a bit of paint on a canvas: he painted my lips with his own as well as his tongue. I wanted this to go a little further, though, given he threw out that little line with Chris standing right there next to us.

I shoved him off of me. I clambered off of the ground, but he had undone my pants.

“What?” Joey blurted out. “Hahlly, what?”

I crawled away from him and then I clambered onto my feet. I ran blind towards the pond.

“Hahlly! What's the matter?” I skidded to a stop before the wall to make it look like I had nowhere to go. I crouched down before the wall with my back to it. Joey hurried towards me with a concerned look on his face. He knelt down before me.

“What happened?” he asked me in a hushed voice; his eyes were big with concern. “What happened?”

I closed my eyes and bowed my head.

“That guy right?” I sniffled and nodded my head. He threw his arms around me and held me close to his warm chest. I buried my face in his little leather jacket and put my arms around his delicate waist. His body was soft and warm and perfect, like a little teddy bear. And like a little teddy bear, I wanted nothing more than to have someone to hold and love. I wanted his warmth and that combined smell of his cologne, coffee, the art gallery, and the leather of his jacket right underneath me. I wanted it all for myself especially since I didn't have it in me to bring forth actual tears.

Those big Italian hands were soft and smooth like the leather on his jacket. And speaking of his jacket, I reached up to the zipper and yanked down. I wanted to feel his body, especially since he felt all nice and toasty from being all bundled up. I slipped my arms underneath the jacket to feel the softness of his waist. I loved it when he ate a lot and his stomach got so warm and even silkier than before: there was a part of me that wanted to fatten him up a little bit, but I couldn't do that to his delicate little body. Not to this beauty. This beauty more than kind to cradle me in his arms and let me fondle him up a bit: I was only an inch away from his crotch, too. It was an offer I couldn't refuse to be right with him and against his body.

“Joey?” Lars' voice rang out across the grass. “Joey? Holly?”

Joey raised his head to see him running towards us, with his cup of tea still in hand.

“Lars?” he called out.

“I think someone broke into the gallery!” he replied to us. “From the back!”

“You should've told me to lock the place,” I scoffed as Joey and I climbed to our feet.


	29. Chapter 29

Lars grumbled to himself as he led Joey and me back up the sidewalk and to the speakeasy. The place stood so close to us, within our line of sight and yet it happened. Even though it was so obvious to me, I hoped that nothing was taken out of there. I hoped that whomever broke in were caught by the fact the door remained unlocked. But then again, we were living in a time in which the pandemic was returning without rhyme or reason: I didn't think they were that smart.

Joey lingered behind me as the three of us walked on back up the street. To think he held me so close to his body back there: his touch was so delicate and gentle, and his body was so warm even being out in the chilly night such as that. I felt his hand on the back of my shoulder as we followed Lars across the street. I wanted to touch him some more, to go back to that safe spot there by the pond and hold him some more. I wanted to tease him some more and mess with him and play with him. He and Lars were my muses after all: every artist should not only have a muse but have a muse they feel comfortable to hang out with when given the chance.

The speakeasy didn't look any different from before, everything down to all of the lights still remaining on, but I had to take Lars' word for it, especially since my parents still had not shown up there and my art was in there, just waiting to be scooped up by slippery hands. His long smooth hair streamed behind him like a curtain.

I wanted to lose myself in that hair, to give it a good whiff when he was sleeping and then play with it after he took a shower. I wanted to paint his wet hair when I found the chance. Wet hair in the shape and form of tentacles spread across a canvas on the floor.

But I need not pay attention to that at the moment: for all I knew, someone could have taken my art. Or taken one thing. But otherwise, someone got in and I should have been told to lock the door.

Lars held the door for both me and Joey. The whole place still smelled of paints and coffee, and yet it remained vacant. He ducked behind us to the bathroom to wash down his hands. Meanwhile, Joey and I stood there in the middle of the floor with our masks over our faces. I turned to him to look at him dead in those brown eyes.

“So what do you think they could'a taken?” he asked me, to which I shrugged.

“No clue. I mean, first of all, why would anyone wanna take from me, of all people?”

“'Cause you're the artist. I'm no artist myself, not like Charlie, no—but when things go to shit, you're both revered and treated like shit. Why? I dunno.”

“That's just from what you've seen, too,” I pointed out; my hands itched to be washed and then soothed over with sanitizer.

“Absolutely. I remember one time back home, when I was in school, there was this artist who lived up the street from me. She was kinda like you, real fiery and wasn't gonna take shit from no one and she had her own style to boot, too. Real cartoony but not like over the top, though. People loved her but I swear to god, if you could take a shot every time she was brought up in conversation in a negative light, you'd probably be dead in about ten minutes. She was a victim of theft, too. The thief who took from her, by the way, said his motif was 'she just seemed clueless.'”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I remember watchin' it on TV at my parents' house once an' my mom was at a complete loss for words.”

Lars surfaced from the bathroom with the smell of soap accompanying him. He peeled off his mask and held it by the straps on one finger.

“It doesn't look like anything was taken,” he remarked, “at least as far as I can tell anyway.”

“Like did you do a run through or something like that?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I saw someone move to the door and I think they saw me because they bounced out of here before I could call them out.”

He gave his hair a toss back over his shoulder.

“Even in this setting, where there is an impending curfew, we must be wary of thieves,” he explained. “They are fearless and merciless. They will resort to anything to ruin your life out of spite. They are selfish and they don't care.”

“In other words, you can find reams of evidence against them and people will still have it out for you,” I followed along.

“Exactly!”

“Wait a minute, there's a curfew now?” Joey stopped him.

“That was what the barista told me in the cafe when I walked past again,” Lars explained, “meaning we need to wash up and call it a night here soon or we could land our asses in jail. You guys can also take off your masks now.”

Joey peeled off his and let his tongue hang out from his mouth like a dog. I did the same and licked my lips: too many times I would wear my mask and it felt like a thick wax had made its way onto the skin there.

“And Chris still isn't back,” Lars added. "It's been longer than an hour, I'll tell you that much. I do sincerely hope Stone is alright."

“What d'you think we oughta do?” Joey asked him as he shifted his weight next to me.

“At the moment?”

“Yeah.”  
“Joey, remember when you said you'd take those paintings back to upstate New York with you?”

“Yeah. But I was kinda jokin', though, Lars.” He shrugged a little bit.

“It mustn't be a joke now,” Lars pointed out. “This art needs to be protected at all costs—from thieves, from liars, from just dumb shit starters, from negative cunts, from the clutching cunts, from all of it. This art is truly precious—I am positive that you are aware of that, Joey.”

“Oh, yeah. We gotta hide it all away here—just so long as nuthin' happens to this place while we're away, either.”

“Once the pieces are all stashed away in their respective hiding places, we shall make our break for it.”

“When does curfew end?” I asked him.

“Five in the morning, if I recall correctly?” Lars answered. “You might want to bring a sketchbook or something with you when we take our walk upon then, Holly.”

“Of course! Oh, wait, but my regular sketchbook is back home, though.”

“Will found one in the back room here—” He nodded to my right. “An empty book of blank pages—and I believe there are some pens in the drawer, too. But for now, let's wash up and put these precious pieces of art in a safe place—”

I snapped my fingers.

“What?” he asked me with his eyebrows raised.

“The back room,” I stated. “The room there with the easel. The room where I took you guys to be painted. The room where I touched and felt the both of you.”

“That room?” His eyes twinkled with excitement; I heard Joey let out a soft groan in his throat from right next to me.

“There's a side of the table missing but we can use it as a crawl space of sorts. And as long as no one goes back there, it'll all be safe. Anyone gives us any looks, we'll tell them it's imperative that they have a key to get in here. And Will's the one with the key.”

“We can cover it up with a sleeping bag, too!” Lars declared. “Good thinking, Holly.”

“And I assume we're lockin' the door while we're sleepin'?” Joey cracked with a shake of his head.

“We are barring the door with a support beam if we must, Joseph,” Lars retorted. "I will personally dig a moat around here to keep all of them thieves out of here."

"All of them thieves..." Joey's voice trailed off for a second. "I oughta throw that one at Scott when I see 'em again."

"And you claim you're not an artist," I pointed out with a little nudge of my elbow.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"i'm short and i'm tall,  
>  and i'm black and i'm white.  
> sometimes i be wrong,  
> sometimes i be right!"_  
> -"you better swim", motorhead

Chris still hadn't returned to the speakeasy by the time Lars, Joey, and I turned in for the night. The entire street had fallen dark and stayed dark by the time I figured it would be best to call it a night before one of us fell asleep standing up.

Lars meanwhile wasn't kidding when he said he would bar the front door closed with something sturdy, a la the support beam to the building: I actually watched him drag a chair and one of the bar stools towards the door to block it shut. He also took a broom and lodged it in between the handle and the door so no one would be able to open it.

Once the door was shuttered closed, we switched off the lights and headed back into the dark room to crawl under the covers of the sleeping bags. Even though I was nestled down between the two of them, I couldn't help but miss sleeping in my own bed and also snuggling up to Chris. I missed his touch right there next to me.

Lars was kind enough to cover me with his blanket, and Joey snuggled up close to me, but I missed it all, though. Add to that, he was at the hospital with Stone and Dave.

The pandemic had made me claustrophobic in a retroactive manner: I would see photos of crowded city busses or jammed crosswalks in cities like Seattle and New York City and my skin would crawl at the thought of just one person there with the virus. Even when things began improving, I would go to the supermarket with my mom and see a person without a mask covering their face and I would be reticent to approach them to even so much as take a can of beans off of the shelf.

Add to this, there were people like my assaulter in junction with all of the unrest across the country. Every man for himself, as I heard someone say at one point.

We all had gone back to basics almost overnight, and to the point everyone wanted a slice of it all no matter what the cost.

I had my fears, and such that I could hardly fall asleep, even with these two boys on either side of me. I closed my eyes and I thought about the times I had difficulty with my art, from the lack of support to being able to get some kind of clout with it even during the height of the pandemic. I saw from the very beginning that being an artist was hard, and that it would take hell or high water to fight our way to the top. But after the potential theft earlier to my own assaulter to my own father discouraging it even with everything at a standstill, I started to wonder if it was something I truly wanted for myself.

I started to wonder if it was even worth it, if all I was going to receive in return was a series of doses of screwed over ad infinitum.

I finally managed to fall asleep as I buried my face in Joey's chest. It was something warm and something soft, something that I missed during the thick of it all. But no sooner had I fallen asleep when Lars woke us up at that ungodly hour to go out walking.

Joey was quick to get up but I lay there for a few minutes and watched them both get dressed. As Lars laced up his shoes in the darkness, I finally hoisted myself onto my forearms.

“I dunno—it's kind of a long walk, though,” I said to them.

“It ain't that long,” Joey assured me as he put on his mask, “it's like a cuppa coffee, really.”

“A cup of Joey,” I corrected him.

“A cuppa Joey, exactly!”

“Are we still getting breakfast?” I reminded Lars.

“Hopefully,” he assured me. “That is if no one pulls us over on the street.”

“Why would someone pull us over?” I asked him.

“Neither of us have money and we haven't showered in a few days, either.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip at that. It was risky, but then again, Stone could have the virus and Dave and Chris still hadn't returned to the speakeasy. I rolled out from underneath the sleeping bag and Lars' blanket, and reached for my shoes. I slipped them on and stood up before Joey: even in the dim morning light filtering through the little window behind me, I could make out the sly look in those big dark eyes. He kept his eyes on me as I put on my own mask: tethers over the backs of my ears, right over my nose and my mouth. The mask protected my face and my lungs and it allowed me to look into his eyes. He nodded towards the door for me, and I followed him out to the dark hallway; Lars lingered right behind me as we made our way to the door out to the porch. Given Joey was the one with the longer legs out of the three of us, he held onto the rail and slung his legs over first, but he managed to help both Lars and me over, too.

He held my hand and he put his other hand on my side as I climbed over the railing. In the darkness, I noticed Lars keeping close to me to ensure I didn't fall ass over teakettle onto the grass beneath us.

The suffocation I felt looking at crowded spaces aside, the gentle touch of another person's hand was another thing I craved to see during the height of the pandemic, the protests, the fires, and everything just falling sideways. If nothing, that made me wonder why I even so much as bothered with the art and even the survival of it all.

The deserted streets were illuminated by nothing more than the golden street lights and the bluish twilight from the sunrise at our side. Nothing to see here, just a walk about a neighborhood at five o'clock in the morning towards a freeway overpass. We got about a mile away from the speakeasy, and right underneath the overpass, when Lars told Joey and me to stop right in our tracks so as to catch his breath.

“We really need breakfast,” he told us, panting.

“Yeah, I'll say,” Joey added, “we got about five blocks from the place and my stomach started makin' weird noises at me.”

“Well, why didn't you say something?” I asked him.

“Hahlly, you saw those neighborhoods—like nuthin' was open.”

“Well, we're here at the overpass and it's about another mile or so before we get to a cafe or something.”

“Come to think—who knows if one will be open,” Lars remarked.

“And Chris'll come back to the speakeasy and be like 'why is the door jammed shut?'” I followed along. “Shit. We did not think this through, didn't we?”

“Well, to be fair, it did get us out of there,” Joey pointed out.

“If Chris didn't return to the speakeasy all through the night, who knows when he will be back there during the day,” said Lars.

“He might, though!” I insisted, and then I stopped myself.

“What's the matter?” Lars asked.

“The garden,” I muttered.

“What about it?”

“Dave told me he and Stone would be screwed if someone from the outside world found out about it, because of the whole thing from the pandemic. It has to be essential or they could get into a heap of trouble.”

“It _is_ essential, though,” Joey joined in, and then he stopped himself.

“You're telling me that needs to be protected now?” Lars raised his eyebrows at me.

“That's exactly what's she sayin', dude,” Joey pointed out.

“So, change of plans,” I declared. “We go to the garden to make sure Dave and Chris aren't there. If they aren't, we stay there until they get there.”

“Okay, how do we get there?” Lars asked me, to which I fetched up a sigh. It was already hard to walk a full mile from the speakeasy without having eaten or drank anything—I couldn't imagine going all the way down to the garden on foot, either. I peered up the street, beyond the overpass to the sight of a rather large bicycle leaned against the wall on our side of the street: even from a distance, I could make out the sight of two seats on top of the body. I returned to Joey; I glanced down at his lanky but strong looking legs.

“Joey, would be willing to ride a bike for Lars and me?” I asked him.

“Huh?”

I pointed up the sidewalk to the bicycle.

“Hahlly, I ain't stealin' some poor schlub's bike for nuthin',” he scoffed.

“It'll beat walking the whole way down there,” I told him.

“Well, as long as we find sump'n to eat—I never did too well on an empty stomach when I played hockey.”

The three of us ambled down the sidewalk; as we came within sight of it, I noticed the thick body at the back. It was a trailer containing a bunch of empty flower pots and hats. It was as if Dave and Stone had both here before us, like they knew we were coming. Using the dim light of the streetlight, Joey, Lars, and I tried on the hats so we could have something, anything, covering our heads while we rode our way down to the garden. I found a hard bright red motorcycle helmet that slipped onto my head as if it was made just for me. Joey found himself a black one with a white stripe down the middle while Lars found one that covered his entire head.

“Looks like one of those deep sea divers,” Joey cracked as he tightened the strap underneath his chin.

I undid the hitch on the trailer as he climbed on first. I didn't realize it was a police man's bicycle at first, either: but once the three of us held onto each other on the double seat, and Joey pedaled forward, the streetlight shone down the little red glass jar on top of the handlebars and I realized it was a siren. He gripped onto the handlebars and I held him around his soft little waist. I could tell he was hungry by feeling him with the insides of my forearms: his stomach felt softer and more tender than normal, which meant he was completely running on empty. But his grip on the handlebars told me he was stronger than he looked. Lars meanwhile, held onto me for dear life given he was practically hanging off of the second seat. But on the other hand, it was either have Lars be comfortable in the trailer or have Joey work harder to pedal.

For a moment, I forgot which way to the garden given we were riding on back roads compared to the freeway, but once the familiar exit signs on the freeway emerged from behind the trees, I knew exactly where to go.

We reached a series of small intersections: a rather buttoned down neighborhood, albeit one that felt familiar. We were getting close to the garden. But every dip in the road felt like too much of one for me and Joey in particular.

I spotted a rather good sized one right in front of us, and I knew it would be one of those abrupt ones. I looked at Joey pulsating his fingers on the handlebars.

“Alright, check this out—” He yanked back on the handlebars and the front wheel lifted up about a feet. I yelped out and Lars shouted something in Danish but Joey managed to bring it back down to the pavement. We missed the divet by about an inch. I shook and shuddered from that, but Joey laughed like a madman right then.

“Come AHN! We can't be doin' this and not have a li'l fun!”

“There's no point if you can't play with it,” Lars chimed in with a muffled voice.

“Exactly!”

And then it hit me. No wonder why it felt like I wondered through a fog. I couldn't play with that fog, but Joey popping a wheelie right there made me want to make bubbles with it.

But we got about a block from the garden when I noticed he was moving slower. He hadn't been pedaling so hard as of late. He was breathing harder than normal, too.

“What's wrong, dude?” Lars yelled through the helmet.

“He's tired,” I called back.

“Fucking beat, man,” Joey replied in between breaths.

“It's alright, though,” I gently said to him, “—we're almost there—I can see the neon!”

“I—I can't—”

“It's okay, Joey—we're almost there.”

“I can't—I feel like I'm gonna pass out—”

It was right then I was glad all three of us all had helmets on.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t do drugs. I _am_ drugs.”  
> -salvador dali

“Holly?”

Blond Dave's voice rang through my ears. He sounded as though he stood about a mile down a sewer pipe. I opened my eyes a little bit and saw his hazy silhouette standing over me. Hazy in the face of the incoming daylight. His blond hair dangled down from his head and towards my chest.

“Holly?” he called again. His voice came in closer to me as I woke up more and more. My back and my hips really hurt, to where I wondered if I could even move them. I heard a soft groan next to me. I blinked a few times so my vision returned to focus. Dave's face entered my view and I could make out the look on concern riddled in his eyes.

“Holly—hey, are you alright?”

“I—” I cleared my throat and rolled my head to the side a bit. A dull pain emerged at the base of my neck. “—I think so?”

“Well, you're talking to me right now,” he said to me in a gentle voice, “you're definitely alright. How do you feel?”

“My neck hurts,” I told him. “As long as I didn't hit my head—”

“You and Joey were about a few inches from smacking your heads on the curb, but you just so happened to land in the right spot.”

“Where is Joey, anyway?”

He groaned out from the right of me. I rolled my head over for a look at him: it all happened so fast that I have no idea how he managed to land on the ground unscathed. But he groaned in agony as he rolled over onto his back and let himself breathe.

“Fuck—” His eyes closed and his chest heaved from the rush of adrenaline. There was a crack in the crown of his helmet, and I could feel mine was broken as well.

“What the hell happened?” Dave asked me.

“We were—” I shifted my weight on the pavement. “—we were coming down to the garden on that bike. And Joey told Lars and me that he wasn't feeling good.”

“Next thing I know, the front wheel hits a rock, and I lose my balance and go flyin',” Joey filled in for me in a pained voice. “I didn't break anythin', though—just—just—”

“In a lot of pain,” Dave filled in.

“Yeah—” Joey grimaced and lifted himself up on his forearms. I could see a road rash on the outside of his left wrist; he grimaced again and pushed himself into an upright position. He turned his left arm over to look at the rash on his skin and wrinkled his nose.

“Think I sprained my wrist,” he confessed; he pulsated his fingers and he winced at the feeling. “Not the first time that's happened but—fuck.”

It hurt my back to do so, but I lifted myself next to him, while Dave backed away from us to check on Lars and the bike: I looked past Joey to see Lars had landed in a bush on the other side of the street and the bike lay on its side near the storm drain. I tried to sit myself in a cross legged position but a sharp pain surged through my hips, so sharp that I yelped out.

“What?” Joey asked me, concerned. “What happened?”

“You okay, Holly?” Dave called over to me.

I leaned back with my legs stretched out which helped a bit. It didn't hurt when I was laying down but I was in agony if I even so much as sat up next to Joey.

“What happened, Hahlly?” Joey asked me again.

“It hurts to sit up,” I groaned out. I tried to push myself upright and it felt like someone stabbed me in the lower back. I yelped out again and almost thrust myself back down onto the pavement.

“Oh, shit,” said Joey.

“Yeah, that's not good,” Dave replied, “we've gotta get you to the hospital. You could've cracked some vertebrae or your pelvis.” Lars grunted and groaned inside of his helmet as he slithered out of the bush.

“You got yer phone on ya?” Joey asked me.

“Yeah, it's in my jeans pocket—” I told him, and he reached into my front pocket for it. His fingers were gentle even on the other side of the denim: soothing and gentle even in the face of pain. But he took out my phone and opened the lockscreen, where he was faced with the lock number.

“Zero seven two zero six four,” I said to him.

“Interesting choice'a numbers,” he said in a soft voice as he tapped on the screen. The light from the phone shone over his face as he dialed 911 and I could make out the somber look in his eyes. I needed to come clean with him, but I also liked keeping the secret from him. I was seeing Chris as well as seeing him and Lars.

He held the phone up to his ear and waited a second. I peered past him to see Dave helping the disoriented Lars to his feet.

“Uh, yes, my friend an' I were just in a bike accident and she might'a either broke her pelvis or her back,” Joey said in a single breath. He hesitated for a second. “Uh—” He looked over at me with his eyebrows knitted together.

“Where are we? I dunno where we are.”

“We're by the garden in Tacoma,” I told him.

“We're just outside of Tacoma,” Dave called out.

“Just outside'a Tacoma,” Joey told them. He then turned to me.

“Where exactly?”

“I don't know,” I confessed to him.

“You've lived here yer whole life, you dunno where you are,” he cracked. The person on the other end said something, then he returned to me. “Y'know where the Five freeway is from here?”

I shook my head.

“No.” The person said something. He returned to me.

“The five oh nine?” I shook my head.

“No.” The person said something. He returned to me.

“The Puget Sound?” I shook my head.

“No.”

“Joey!” Dave called out.

“Wait up—” He lowered the phone and turned towards him. “What's up?”

“We're just passed the cemetery—the Pacific Coast Highway,” Dave shouted from the end of the street.

“The Pacific Coast Highway just passed a cemetery goin' down to Tacoma,” Joey echoed it. “We're like right in the middle of the street.” He paused. “My name? Joey Bellardini. My friend's name is Hollywood. Yeah, I'm from outta town. Stuck here in th' Northwest without any means'a gettin' home.”

“Which means we didn't even go that far,” I remarked; we were within a mile of the actual garden, and yet I swore I saw neon coming up on the right of us. Unless their post collapse garden had expanded that much or the plants were that bright in the darkness, I swore we were there.

“Okay, we'll be waitin' for ya,” Joey told the person on the other end. “Bring food, too—neither of us had breakfast yet an' why we wiped out is 'cause of that.” He paused. “Okay, thank you.” He hung up and handed me the phone. “Help is on the way.”

“Thank you,” I said to him. I tucked it back into my jeans and that was when Lars stumbled towards us. He pried off the helmet and gasped for air.

“Y'alright?” Joey asked him.

“Holy fuck,” he declared in a broken voice. In the incoming morning light, his skin was washed out and pale from fear.

“Yeah, that was—” I started as I shifted my weight on my elbows: apparently I hurt my shoulders, too, given they ached from the accident. “—that was something.”

“Besides, Dave,” Lars started as he shook his head about to loosen up his hair at the back of his head, “how'd you even get here?”

“I was going back up to the speakeasy to check on you guys and I saw Holly and Joey laying on the ground. Then I saw the bike—”

“Shit, the bike!” I shouted.

“What about it?” Lars asked me.

“It's a cop's bike,” said Joey.

“Yeah, they see it, they'll probably think we stole a cop's bike!” I exclaimed.

“Okay, so what should we do with it?” Lars asked us.

Dave turned his head the patch of grass up the street from us.

“Hang tight,” he told us. He hurried over to he bike and picked it up from the pavement: the crash had dented the body a bit and the front wheel was crooked, but the three of us watched him walk it up to the graveyard on the back wheel. He strode over to the bushes on the outside of the fence and lay the bike down in there. He hurried back to us when the whine of ambulance sirens off in the distance caught my ear.

“If anyone asks, I already took the bike home with me for repair,” Dave told us once he entered earshot.

The medics arrived in their protective masks and they helped me and Joey off of the pavement: I was in such agony that I couldn't even stand up. They lifted me onto a stretcher while Joey and Lars both stayed seat on the back of the ambulance with blankets around their shoulders and cups of hot chocolate in one hand each.

The first thing they did for the three of us was to test us for the virus. Negative across the board. Dave tested negative, too, despite having visited Stone in the hospital.

And apparently we were headed for the same hospital where Stone had checked into: I saw his face in one of the rooms as they led me into the radiology room. A lead apron over me and glasses over my eyes to protect me.

Within time, they had my X-ray. Joey and Lars were in the room next door being checked on as I could hear their accents compliment each other as the nurse showed what had happened to me.

She helped me back onto a stretcher and guided me to a room with a bed. She and another nurse lifted me onto there and hooked me up to a couple of monitors and a bit of pain killers.

“Three patients here,” she announced, “—two male, one female, no clue what their ages are. Both boys are from out of town: one is from upstate New York, and the other is I think German. The New York boy who was driving the bicycle lost consciousness due to hunger and hit a rock and the bike high sided. He extended his left wrist out to break his fall and wound up spraining the ligaments within as well as receiving a rash on the outside. The girl sustained a hairline fracture to her pelvic bone as well as her coccyx—”

“My what?” I asked her.

“Your tailbone.”

“My ass,” I muttered. “I broke my ass.”

“—the second boy didn't receive any injuries, and the vitals of all three are stable. Coronavirus tests came back negative for each of them.”

I was unsure if it was the morphine, but Joey looked a lot softer and sweeter than normal once he entered the room to check on me. His face looked fuller and rosier than normal, and it took me a second to realize they had cleaned up his skin and put his one arm into a sling.

“Just ate a bunch'a ice cream,” he told me as he took a seat to my right. “Gonna get sump'n real here in a second.”

“And—you didn't bring any for me?” I asked him.

“The nurse is comin' back with some,” he assured me.

“Not the worst thing that's happened to me, I guess,” I muttered under my breath. Joey knitted his eyebrows together and set his free hand on his hip.

“Hate that I sprained my wrist an' got a li'l rash here an' my darling artist can't even so much as sit up.”

“You sprained your wrist, Joey,” I pointed out, “you have to use just one hand for a while.”

“I usually use one hand anyways,” he smirked at me.

I rolled my eyes and chuckled at him.

“Is there never a time where you're not thinking of having me do the Artist on you again?” I asked him as I could feel my speech slurring.

“Yeah, when I'm sleepin'.” My eyes blurred with sleep. It was hard to keep them open.

“Them drugs gettin' to ya a bit?” he teased me.

“Uh—”

His brown eyes were big and luminous, much larger than they seemed before. For a second, he turned into Chris as his black curls fanned out from his head and his face appeared much more handsome than normal. His skin glowed with the radiance of the incoming sun. He became the sun as gold and red feathers sprouted from around his head to form a crown. He was as warm as the sun on the Italian Riviera. So much more handsome. So much more gorgeous.

A beautiful man. Too beautiful in fact. Too beautiful for me to want to fuck, either.

“You aren't real,” I said aloud.

“I'm as real as the nose on yer face.” His voice scattered about for a hundred years. Different shapes and colors from all around him. He became something else. He became everything and nothing. Orange spots emerged from the wall behind him to take on the shape and swirl of Jupiter's Great Red Spot.

He raised his free hand to push a lock of the serpentine corkscrews on his head behind his ear and his arm extended out, as skinny as a willow on Christmas. His fingers were long and slender and loaded with spiderwebs. He was becoming so beautiful it was terrifying.

“Hahlly?” That upstate accent was as jovial as the spots on the wall and the ones on my blanket. He leaned in closer to me and those brown eyes became black holes. He resembled a painting, one of those oil paintings that were made down to the detail to where they looked very real. He turned into a painting right before my very eyes.

“This pain yer feelin—it's gonna go away here in a second,” he told me as those dark lips took the form and texture of blood pudding.

“A second?” I asked him.

He turned his head and the hair on the side of his head resembled to ribbons the size of Finger Lakes.

“Get 'er some ice cream,” he told the moth at the door, which came towards me to lay me down flat on my back. I was motionless and still so I let him do it to me. The light in the room turned into a soft haze that swallowed me whole and covered me in a blanket. I closed my eyes and I was met with a dark forest. The trees morphed into fountains that spouted bright red water. Red water for blood. Blood on the pain. Blood on the table. Blood on the tree branches as they nudged me towards the sun on the horizon. The full moon hung behind me with a red and white glow on top of itself.

Joey was the sun. Lars was the moon.

Chris was everything.

Everything and nothing.

Paint with my blood. Paint with the breaks in my bones. Paint with everything.

I woke up to see Chris himself standing over me. His black curls dangled down towards my face; but for a split second, I swore it was Joey. But the morphine allowed me to see the fuzz of a mustache over his top lip.

“I was hoping when you'd awake,” he told me, “I was just about to take Joey and Lars back to the speakeasy.”

“They can't,” I said, “they can't go back. I can't go back—not like this.”

“You guys gotta get back to the speakeasy, though,” he insisted.

“But why, though?”

“Yeah, it's locked, Chris,” Lars told him from across the room.

“Your parents are there and they're kind of freaking out because they missed the art show and they got word that you were in a bike accident.”

The morphine meant nothing at that point. What was I going to say to them about my cracked vertebrae, much less the fact I was seeing three boys at the same time.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“I come along but I don't know where you're taking me  
>  I shouldn't go but you're wrenching, dragging, shaking me  
> Turn off the sun pull the stars from the sky  
> The more I give to you the more I die.”_  
> -”the perfect drug”, nine inch nails

I had no idea what to say to my parents, especially given the fact I was all kinds of drugged up and I couldn't even so much as sit up. It also didn't help to realize that I had no idea as to what day it was. But Chris insisted that Joey, Lars, and I go back to the speakeasy, and I had been cleared to return home. I had no idea how to explain the three of them to them, either. For all I knew it was game over for me. I had to fess up. I had to explain everything to them. I had to remove my mask and show them the tip of my nose and my mouth so I could breathe.

Chris lay me down in the backseat, to which he lay my head in his lap all the way there. Lars was kind enough to drive even though he wasn't really the best driver in the world: at one point, I could hear Joey breathing hard and letting out a low whistle every so often. I didn't mind given the amounts of morphine I had been given during my stay at the hospital, but I was concerned about him more than anything.

“You alright, Joe?” Chris asked him, to which he responded by rolling down the window.

“We're almost there, though,” Lars assured him as we took that exit off towards the speakeasy. I saw Joey run his fingers through his black curls and lean the seat back to ease his stomach.

“Would you like some tea, Joey?” Lars offered him as he pulled the parking brake and killed the engine.

“Please. I gotta walk around, too.”

“I'll come along, too,” Chris volunteered. “I have to pee real bad—” He looked down at me. “You gonna be alright here?”

“Yeah, I think so—my mom and dad are here, too, anyways.”

He slid out from underneath me and the three of them climbed out in unison. Once I lay there in the back seat in silence, I closed my eyes. I couldn't even so much as sit up and open the door, and yet I had my hope that the car could be seen from there, wherever Lars had parked us at. Indeed, I heard a tap on the window over my head.

I peered up to see my mom standing there. I almost burst into tears at the sight of her and she opened the door so she could talk to me.

“Oh, my poor little girl,” she cooed as she pressed her hands to either side of my face. “Your friend Chris told us what happened. I'm glad you were wearing a helmet!”

“Yeah, I'll say—where's Dad?”

“He went down the block for a mask—his other one finally wore a hole on the inside. But I told him I would stay here once you showed up.”

I had no idea how to confess it to her, especially given the fact I was on my back and with nowhere to go. I figured it was best to just ease her into it, rather than drop it right on her head.

“I feel awful, Mom,” I started.

“Oh, don't. It's not your fault, honey, and it's not that other boy's fault, either—accidents happen. Like I siad, I'm glad you kids were wearing helmets.”

“No, I mean—I feel awful that being an artist has got me to this point. Hanging out with a bunch of boys like this...”

“Well, Holly—maybe you should consider this a good thing,” she said.

“I—wait, what?”

“You know the story of Frida Kahlo, right?”

“Yeah, she—she sustained horrible injuries in a trolley accident when she was like—eighteen, like my age. She had to undergo a bunch of surgeries and she was in pain most of her life.”

“See this as a means that you are meant to be an artist. The abuse on your body is meant to be put to good use, much like the abuse Frida felt herself. You're an only child so it's not like one of these boys are going to be like Diego Rivera...” Her voice trailed off. I was speechless and I found myself wanting to keep quiet about it all at that point. Of course! I could still make art, but I would have to rethink things. I would have to rethink the Artist move, too, given I couldn't hardly squat so much as I could stand or sit up.

“But one thing is for sure and that's we're taking you home. But these boys are more than welcome to come by and visit, though.”

“You serious?” I was stunned by what I was hearing.

“Totally serious. Like I said, Holly—accidents happen. And these boys were kind enough to take you to the hospital and help you. They like you—you're their friend...” She turned her head and I recognized Joey walking towards her with a cup of something in hand.

“Are you Chris?” she asked him, and he stood that six foot distance from us.

“Nah, I'm Joey,” he corrected her before he took a sip. “I was the dude drivin'.”

“I was just telling Holly that accidents happen.”

“Uh—yeah. They do. They definitely do.” Even though he was upside down to me, I could make out the surprised look on his face.

“I also want to thank you for being such a sweet heart,” she continued.

“Um—thank you?” He showed her a grin, and the little gap in his teeth looked even more adorable upside down. “I mean, I—I did call the medics, after all.”

“You and Chris are more than welcome to come on over any time you want, by the way,” she added.

“Aw, yer too kind.”

“Where you from, by the way? I like your accent.”

“Upstate New York, like Syracuse area, near Lake Ontario. I'm a hick who's a long way from home.”

“Oh, I love upstate! I haven't been there in forever it seems. And you're not that much of a hick.”

“Oh, no, Miss Sherman—I assure ya that I am without question the biggest hick you've ever seen.”

“I've seen worse, Joey. You're—what Holly's father calls 'humble.' Have you been to Schenectady?”

“Not lately, nah.”

“Oh, well—her father was going to go there for a job right before the pandemic, like the day before all the lockdowns, and then it fell through. He's still on call, though, so maybe—just maybe—when things lift, he can transfer that way.” News to me, but then again, I did recall my dad receiving a phone call on that last night, but I didn't hear much of it because of all the news of lockdown surrounding us and the fact my life as a teen was going to consist of being alone most of the time and I would turn to art and the music I loved for the rest of my life as far as I knew. My mom raised herself to her feet and adjusted her blouse.

“Got your mask?” she asked him.

“Right in my pocket. Why, ya wanna help me help her?”

“Like I said—you are a sweet heart.”

She rounded the back end of the car, to which he joined me there at the doorway. His standing there above my head allowed me to look right at his crotch and his thighs. He looked down at me like a prince.

“How ya doin',” he asked me in a low voice.

“Liking what I see,” I said to him.

“Not even a bit'a drugs can keep that mind of yers outta the gutter,” he teased me before he took a sip. I had a nice view of that nice slender neck of his, too.

“Holly's parents in Schenectady,” he remarked in a low voice. “Do ya remember anythin' 'bout that?”

“Vaguely. Then again, like what Mom said, it happened right before the lockdowns went down. It's tempting, isn't it?”

And he winked at me.

“Come out there an' live not too far from me—that's pretty far from home, though. Speakin' as a guy who's far from home himself.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“An' with—with—” He gestured at my laying on my back. “—this right here, it'd be a li'l hard to say as to if or when it'll even happen.”

“True.”

“But—” He peered up at the other side of the car, where my mom had walked to. I lifted my head to find she wasn't there, or maybe she was, but she had ducked down or something. Joey bowed his head closer to me. “—know that no matter what happens,” he lowered his voice to a near whisper, “I'll always like you.”

I glanced up at him.

“Y-You will?” I stammered.

“Yeah.” Even upside down, I could make out the soft look on his face. He swallowed and looked off to the side: stray tendrils of black curls dangled down from his head and towards my face. “I got a crush on you, Hahlls. I dunno if it'll advance beyond that 'cause of Chris an' Lars an' whatnot... but that's how I feel about you. And I gotta fess it up to you 'cause of the accident an' the return of the pandemic and everything. I'm not makin' sense, sorry...”

“No, no,” I assured him, “you're making perfect sense.”

A soft blush crossed his aquiline nose and those little cheekbones.

“I gotta tell ya that I'm just absolutely captivated by your art. An', not ta mention—yer perfect in my eye. You're a saint to me, even when yer a sinner. You'll pull through. If you can survive some sick bastard attackin' you on the street an' without question the worst thing that's happened this century, you can survive this nonsense. An' I'll be here.”

I showed him a smile, to which he showed me that crooked one of his. I couldn't say anything because the other door swung open and my mom prepared to help me out of the backseat without putting strain on that awful injury. I could crab walk out of the back seat but I couldn't so much as crawl into the wheel chair Chris had brought along with us. If I leaned to the side and sat with my knees way out, it didn't hurt so much, but it still hurt. Chris and Lars weren't able to see us off, but Joey helped me into the back seat of my mom's car.

“You know where we live, right?” I asked him in a low voice.

He paused for a second with one hand on the mask underneath his chin and then his face lit up in junction with the afternoon sun.

“I do,” he told me, still in a near whisper.

“Tell Chris and Lars you know where to find me.” And he winked at me before he shut the door.

I was eager to paint for Joey again. And I was eager to paint for Chris and Lars again, even if it meant having my parents within a few feet of hearing us.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“call me whenever,  
>  i’ll do whatever:  
> i’m feeling alive tonight.”_  
> -”1-900″, joey belladonna

I had a little trouble when it came to carrying out simple tasks such as sitting at the table or on the couch, and it didn't help matters that I liked to draw while lounging on the couch, either. I would have to lay down on my back and rest my feet up on the arm of the couch, but it was tricky given the whole digital aspect of my art. My mom had to lug in my computer for me, or I would have to lay in bed and have it at my side, and I often went with the latter because it wasn't as much of a headache for the both of us. There came a moment it felt as though I might as well have become bed ridden, given I couldn't hardly sit up correctly and I had to have things brought to me. The very second I had to be escorted to the bathroom and brought a tray of lunch was the second I realized I was bed ridden.

I lay in bed on afternoon with my eyes closed and my arms lain down by my sides, outside of the covers. I thought about the hallucinations I had had following the bike crash. The bright bold colors which made me think of oil painting: a painting of Joey at his hottest and brightest, a sun shining bright despite the darkness of the dead of night. There was in fact a brush set on my drawing app that mimicked oil paints, so I wouldn't have to resort to exposing myself to turpentine while laying in bed, and yet I rarely used them prior to then.

Just the thought of Joey there with me... by my side and keeping me company all the way.

I could still picture him there above me, with his hair dangling down from his head like a curtain. The sun wasn't hitting him then, but I wish that it did: the afternoon light could hit those tendrils, those black curls, and make them sparkle and glimmer in the the light as if he had glitter embedded within those strands of hair. My own personal sun.

but then there was Chris, the man on the moon. The way in which his curls cascaded around his head to make me think of the moon at night. Lars, to light the way.

The three of them to come along with me in the dead of night.

It was such an image to think about that I wanted to draw it down. I wanted to put those glimmers in Joey's hair and draw his hair in all of its rich blackness, and I wanted Chris to resemble the fullest of moons against the blackest of backgrounds.

And then I realized something and it made me open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling. I couldn't pull the Artist on either of them again, at least not until the fractures healed up anyway. And I had no idea if it could be even so much as pleasurable again even if they had healed: such a sturdy spot of the human body, now taken out by breaks as wide as the edge of a dime. And I wondered about healing with their love and their touches.

But then again, these were bones inside of my body. The one way I could feel it again at that point was if I imposed upon myself. I had to meet up with my own inner again. To perform the Artist upon myself.

It felt like such an eternity since I had last slipped my fingers down in between my legs to feel what was there. Granted, it had everything going for it before the accident, but it had been some time before I worked and used my fingers on my own. Three boys to turn the dial the right way, and nothing left to drink up on my own.

I slipped my left hand under the covers and lay it on the waist band of my panties. I knew I either had to sit up or roll over onto my side, and the former was out of the question, while the latter would be more painful than enjoyable. Every time I rolled over my left side and cocked out my hips, I had to roll back to where I lay flat on my back because it was too much pressure on my pelvis.

I inched down the mattress a bit and spread out my legs at the same time. My fingers caressed further down: I inched some more to where the crown of my head poked out from under the blankets. The only thing separating my fingers from my lips was a single piece of fabric. I nibbled on my bottom lip as I prepared myself, and I stuck my fingers down inside. The skin was warm and I could feel my lips split open enough by my opened legs.

I thought about Chris in all of his glory, with his shirt hung off of his body and the sun about to kiss his skin for me. I needed to kiss that skin myself, to have him show his colors and bleed them onto my canvas. Let me be his canvas, even with my broken ass and my body lain out before him. Nothing to cover me. All there for him, and all of him there for me. Every caress of that delicate skin made me think of his own lips: his own lips to kiss me this way and that.

This way brought me to Joey, in all of his gentle softness and that upstate humble charm. Those dark eyes swallowed me whole. His body was soft and delicate, one perfect for the gesture. Where I wanted Chris to bleed like the watercolors I used to play around with, I wanted Joey to drink me down. To let him take me within him. To feel him from within. He had already felt me from the inside: it only made sense that I do the same for him. And I wanted to drink him down, to feel him within me, to experience him. The both of us like water.

Meanwhile, that way had a dead stop right before Lars: a pathway that led me right square into his bare chest. His long soft smooth hair caressed me down once he had me down on my back. That incoming fuzz on his face tickled the soft spots on the inside of my thighs.

All three of these boys, my animals. Who needed a boyfriend when there were three different kinds of paint brushes to color this canvas with?

While my own caresses proved wonderful and delicate to where it made me think of the heads of paint brushes, all coated in big bright colors, the pulses from my lips hit the fracture in my back to the point it ached. My wonderful illusions vaporized and subsided to make way for the pain, and I finally had to stop. It also didn't help matters that my left foot hit the cold wall and my right foot hung over the edge of the bed.

I took my hand out from under the covers and examined my fingers. The skin was clean and without a smudging of juice on it. I didn't even come yet!

I fetched up a sigh and lay my hand on top of the covers and fetched up a sigh. I also didn't feel like plugging in my drawing pad and my stylus to draw either, at least not until the pain subsided.

My parents had gone out so the house was quiet.

And then I realized the house was quiet.

I pushed myself back up towards the head board, and I lay my head back down on my pillows. My laptop was right there next to me on a TV tray: I reached out for the legs underneath and dragged the tray towards me. I could lay on my back and have the table level with me so I could draw without having to get up. I also could to Joey and Chris with ease, even though they would be at an angle. In fact the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of it: I was in my bed, in my underwear, and I needed some relief of some sort.

I brought up the app and typed in Joey's name. I put in my ear buds and let it ring. He never picked up, and so I tried again.

Nothing. I hung up. My phone, however, was on the nightstand next to me. I reached back and picked it up, and I dialed his number.

That time it rang once, twice.

“Hello, hello?” His voice sounded so crisp, like he had just woken up.

“Hi.” I couldn't resist the smile on my face.

“Oh, hey,” he breathed out as if I had flustered him. “I, uh—I was just thinkin' about you. How ya doin'?”

“Just thinkin' about you, too.”

“Aw, that's too kind of you! Um, I should ask you—are you alone right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I ask 'cause I got a li'l sump'n for you and I dunno if I can give it to you if the door's lahcked.”

“What is it?” I asked him.

“It's two things, actually. One's a dream catcher, the other is a li'l more specific to my family and the tribe we hail from.”

He coughed and I heard him take a drink of something. Something rustled in the background on his end.

“What's—going on right now?” I asked him.

“Just takin' a li'l walk. I was goin' up Capitol Hill a ways and so I ran out of breath a li'l bit. Y'know, you walk up a slope or sump'n and it kicks up shit in yer chest an' yer throat?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“And you know, I not only sprained my wrist, but I fucked up my ankle, too.”

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows at that even though he couldn't see me.

“Yeah. I woke up the day after th' crash an' my ankle was just killin' me. The nurse who treated me said I compressed one of the ligaments there—” I gasped and brought a hand to my mouth. “—but she told me to keep walkin' and don't overdo it so—here I am.”

He paused for a second.

“So what were ya thinkin' about?” he asked me in a low voice.

“With you?”

“Yeah.”

“Just wanting to drink you down and having you use me as your canvas.”

He paused again.

“Oh, so those types of thoughts, I see. Well, remember: yer the one holdin' the paint brush.”

“All of the colors of the rainbow, too?” I added with a grin on my mask.

“Every color that makes up every crease and every fold of your sex, baby doll. Oh, wait, hang on—I'm getting another call comin' in—” _Click_.

I was met with momentary silence when I got one, too. I pressed the button.

“Hello?” I said in a low voice.

“Hi,” Chris' voice whispered through the microphone.

“Oh, hello,” I lowered my voice to a husky tone.

“How's my darling Hollywood doing?”

“Wanting a back rub and a nap—what's up witchu?”

“You know, I was thinkin' about a little slumber party with you at some point.”

“It won't be much of a party, though, 'cause—you know—” _Click_. “—oh, wait, sit tight. I'm getting another call.” I pressed the button.

“Joey?” I said.

“Yeah, what happened?”

“It's funny. I got another call myself.”

“Ah. Anyways, uh—that was just Lars. He's got a li'l sump'n for ya, too. You got his number, right?”

“Right!”

“Aight, so get on back to that other line. I might swing by soon, too.” I heard him pucker his lips to blow me a kiss.

“Okay! See ya soon, Joey.”

We hung up at the same time and I returned to Chris.

“Slumber party, right?” I followed up.

“Yeah. Just you and me. I'll come in through the window if I must.”

“You'll do anything to watch me draw and paint and do stuff, won't ya?” I teased him.

“I really will,” he vowed, “i really, truly will. And you know, I just think about laying in your bed next to you, letting you sleep...”

“And then you wake me up with a little something special?”

“You know me well, my sweet Hollywood.” His words felt like the slither of snakes, the cold dark venom of a king cobra that managed to invite me inside to the coziest spot there on his velvet tongue.

“So what time you wanna come on over?” I asked him as I heard the front door open.

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?” I echoed.

“Let me come close to you. Let me hold and touch and heal you. Let me experience you the way in which you experience me.”

I opened my mouth to reply but there was a knock on the door.

“I'll call you later,” I told him to put up a front right before I hung up. I couldn't I did that but he and I needed to remain a secret, even with my broken body. Even my being bed ridden at the moment.


	34. Chapter 34

Even with the shadows growing long, and my knowing that Chris was going to be there that evening, I still could not fend off the pain in my lower back.

I tried to hoist myself up into an upright position in bed, but it was useless: it continued to ache like all hell, and I knew for a fact I would be even more sore come the morning and the following days. There was a wooden dowel I used to lift up the window to let in some of the breeze from outside given the room always got too stuffy if I was in there for too long. I had my hope that I would be alone come the slumber party, but I wasn't.

My parents were in the next room by the time I heard a tap on the windowpane come nightfall.

“Come on in, Chris,” I beckoned him in a soft airy voice as if I was calling my prince. His fingers slid under the edge of the window itself and he pushed it upward. I watched him climb up the outside wall and put one foot over the windowsill.

“Please be careful,” I told him.

“I'm trying—” He hoisted himself up onto the sill and hesitated for a second. I swore he was stuck in place, so I cleared my throat.

“Can you make it?”

“I think—I think I can—” I had no idea where his other leg was on the other side of the wall, but it was either fall onto my desk or onto the floor.

“You got it?” I asked him.

“Yes?” He set his other foot on top of the sill.

“You got it?” I repeated.

“No—!” He lost his balance and fell onto the floor; he missed my desk by about an inch.

“Careful!” I said in a hushed voice.

“Holly?” my mom called from down the hall.

“Get in the closet!” I told Chris. He picked himself up and scrambled into the closet; he left the door open by about an inch. I lay my head back down on the pillow and folded my hands over my chest to make it look as though I was merely daydreaming. There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I called out, and she poked her head into the room.

“What was that thump?” she asked me.

“I didn't hear anything,” I said with a shake of my head.

“Huh. I swear I heard something fall over in here. Anyways, that boy Joey is here right now.”

“Oh, he is?” I raised my eyebrows at that.

“Yeah. He's getting something to eat, though—poor thing said he was starving. He'll come in here in a couple of minutes.”

“Okay!”

She bowed back out to leave me in silence.

“Is it okay to come out yet?” Chris whispered from inside the closet.

“Yeah, come on.” He crawled out of the closet and made his way over to the side of my bed so he was eye to eye with me.

“There's not a lot we can do, though, Chris,” I pointed out to him.

He turned his head towards me for a second, and then he eyed the little tray which held my laptop and my drawing pad.

“There is one thing we can do, though,” he started.

“And what would that be?”

“You know how I was always wanting to come on over and have you draw for me?”

“Yeah—” I hesitated, and then I squinted my eyes at him.

He was about to say something when laughter erupted on the other side of the house. He turned his head towards the door, and stray tendrils of black curls spread over his shoulder like a blanket.

“Hang tight for a second,” he told me with his eyebrows knitted together and a finger raised. He climbed up onto his knees and shuffled towards the door. He was taking a big risk doing that given my parents were right there in the next room, but he ducked out of the room and into the hallway for a second. Faint shadows danced about the door panel for a few seconds, and then he returned to the room, that time up on his feet.

“This came,” he said, and Joey limped the room behind him with a bouquet of sunflowers in one arm.

“Joey!” I lifted myself up on the pillows so I could better face him. Chris hung back near my desk.

“An' summa the flowers courtesy of Dave,” Joey declared as he handed me the bouquet. Hollywood sunflowers, after having come in full bloom with the neon embedded underneath the seeds. “Also, I have this—” He reached into his pocket for a little black velvet box.

“Holy shit,” Chris blurted out with a hurt look on his face.

“It's not what ya think,” Joey assured him with a chuckle. “No way, man!” He opened it for me and showed me a little silver butterfly pendant with black opal wings. I gasped at the sight of it.

“Oh my God, Joey—” I whispered as he took a seat on the edge of the bed next to me.

“Do you like it?”

“It's beautiful!”

“Here—” He set the box on the nightstand and took the pendant out of its spot. He winced from the pain in his arm, but he managed to put the chain around my neck; he brought his face close to mine as a result.

“Lift yer head,” he whispered to me, and I did for him. I could smell the soft cologne on his neck and shoulders, and the coffee on those dark lips of his. He slid the clasp of the chain around the back of my neck so he could better close it for me. He lay the clasp down on my collar bone so he could better examine the pendant and his cheekbones filled out with the smile. So full and kissable.

“Just gorgeous,” he remarked in a low voice. He then cleared his throat and reached into his pocket for something.

“An' this is from Lars. He wanted to come but he needed to do some other things, though.”

He took out a black weave bracelet with a silver button in the middle and put it around my wrist. As he fastened it atop my wrist, I caught the sound of a quiet grumble from him and I remembered what my mom had said before then.

“Was that your tummy?” I asked him with a chuckle.

He leaned back and patted his stomach.

“You better eat somethin' then,” Chris teased him.

“I'm waitin' on a li'l Reuben sandwich at the moment,” Joey scoffed. “Li'l Reuben with some fries—there's one comin' for darlin' Hahllywood here, too.”

“Oh boy,” I declared as I reached for his stomach. He lurched back: I reached for him again but I was met with a surge of pain up my back. I caught myself in an almost upright position and lay back down on the bed in agony. I was going to be so sore in a few days time; but I had Joey and Chris there with me, the former of whom leaned over me to kiss me on the cheek.

“After I've eaten, I'll let ya rub my tummy,” he said to me, “sump'n big like a Reuben always fill me up. Get some more after that like French fries an' I'm all yours.”

“Rub his full belly like you're making a wish,” Chris cracked, to which Joey laughed. But I noticed a rather thoughtful look on Chris' face as he said that.

“Nah—we ain't makin' wishes,” he pointed, “I ain't big enough yet.” Once he had lifted himself back up, he shook his wrist about to ease the pain.

“By the way, how's Stoney doin'?” I asked Joey as he brought his wrist to his stomach.

“Who?”

“Stoney. Stone.”

“Oh!” Joey raised his eyebrows at me. “Oh, he's fine. Dave picked him up this mornin' an' he's back at the place they're bunkin' in restin'. He didn't have the virus but he did eat sump'n pretty awful, though.”

“Oh, jeez.”

“Yeah, apparently he tried to guzzle it down with a bit'a hooch, too. Did naht work to say in the least.”

“There's a reason Stoney don't drink too much,” Chris pointed out, “he can't carry his liquor.”

“Yeah, that's what Dave said. Oh! I forgot ta tell ya this, too—and apparently Lars wants to do another art show with ya, Hahlly.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah, that's what he said to me, too!” Chris joined in as he inched closer to us. “Completely forgot about that, too, so thank you for mentioning it, Joey. It's the whole thing about how when artists are damaged in some way, people get drawn into them more than ever. And I guess word got out that Hollywood Sherman was injured in a bike accident and now everyone's going crazy over your work.”

“Huh. Wow.”

Joey then turned to me with his wrist clutched to his chest and a twinkle in his eye.

“Chris oughta pose for ya after we eat,” he proclaimed.

“Funny, when you showed up, he and I were just discussing that,” I recalled.

“By the way, how'd ya get in?” Joey asked Chris, “'cause her mom didn't say anythin' 'bout anyone else bein' here.” To which he gestured to the window, and Joey burst out laughing.

There was a knock on the door and Joey shot up to answer it for me.

“Homemade Reuben sandwiches,” I heard my mom say; Chris had ducked back into the closet when Joey's back was turned. So close.

Joey handed me my plate of sandwich and fries and then he took his.

“By the way, leave your door open,” she said.

“Why, 'cause I'm with a boy?” I joked.

She didn't answer but I knew that was the case. Indeed, Joey left the door ajar as he limped back to the edge of the bed. My room soon filled with that warm combined aroma of roast beef, Swiss cheese, toasted bread, and French fries.

“Would you like a bite, Chris?” I offered once he returned back out of the closet.

“I actually ate before coming here, but thank you, though.” He eyed the side of my plate with the fries, these big fat fries that looked as though they came from a diner. Joey was more than eager to eat up his sandwich with his uninjured hand: there was something lovely about a skinny guy who could eat to his heart's desire and every part of what lay on his plate. Come to think of it, each of us were starving. All of us trying to pick ourselves up from the bottom of the barrel in the wake of the pandemic; and yet as I ate at my own sandwich and fries, and I watched Joey stick his tongue out to catch some of the mayo and the beef, I couldn't help but picture him doing that to me. Running his tongue along my own lips and licking up my own mayo.

The way in which he held each of the fries made me think of him touching my nipples.

Even though I nursed my own food, there was something erotic to him. I pictured Lars eating that same sandwich in the same fashion and it was hard to concentrate on my own.

I watched him make love to that sandwich, such that as he got fuller and fuller, he grew more and more relaxed and more like clay in the palm of my hand. Paints came from clay...

Joey managed to swallow down the fries, one by one; at one point, he tilted back his head and showed off his neck to me. He took in the last one and set the plate on the foot of the bed so he could lean back. I raised my legs up so he could lay down.

“Phew, stick a fork in me,” he remarked as he set his hands on his stomach.

“Nah, I'd rather draw that little body of yours,” I told him, and it was then I had an idea. Fill all the boys full and then draw their bodies when they're feeling all warm and soft and relaxed. I could envision them right then: all the more sensual than the initial paintings I had made in the speakeasy. I would have to do it once I healed up because I couldn't imagine explaining to my parents why more and more boys were coming and going from the house in the midst of a returning pandemic. I ate more fries before I turned to Chris again.

“You sure you don't want any?” I asked him.

“Positive. It does smell really good in here, though.” He then turned to Joey, who lay there on his back down by my feet.

“You got anything appropriate for a slumber party?”

“Me?” Joey asked him as he raised his head up to show off the delirious look on his face.

“Yeah.”

“I didn't know we were havin' a li'l party,” he confessed.

“Well, I figure 'cause you're as full as the moon, you oughta relax here with Holly and myself.”

“Yeah, Joey, I'll let you guys sleep in my bed with me,” I told him, and I could feel myself grow moist at the thought of cuddling with Joey's warm little body.

“Two boys in your bed,” he cracked. “I see how you are. I do have a blanket in the back of the car, though, Chris.”

“So you want me to climb out the window and fetch your blanket?” Chris asked him, mortified.

“I'll cover for ya, though,” Joey pointed out. “Y'know—I'll make it look like I'm goin' back ta my car ta get sump'n.”

“Yeah, seeing as you actually climbed through my window to get in,” I added as I took another bite of sandwich. Chris shrugged at that.

“Alright, that makes sense. But when we come back, I wanna be painted.”

“Of course, of course,” I promised him and I reached to the right to switch on my laptop. Joey groaned as he sat up and climbed to his feet. He ran the fingers on his injured hand through his hair and then he stepped out of the room; Chris climbed back out the window, which left me alone in the room. I caught the sound of singing outside.

I knew that voice, even it being completely off-key over the guitar playing. It was my assaulter. Sitting there across the street with an acoustic guitar and singing off-key to some song I had never heard of. A terrible voice to go with a terrible person, and yet I was the one bed ridden.

“YOU SUCK!” Chris and Joey shouted in unison out there in the street, which brought a laugh out of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to xana for the “stoney can't carry his liquor” reference 🔥


	35. Chapter 35

Joey ran his fingers down the front of his shirt. I knew he had eaten too much of that sandwich and those fries, and yet Mom insisted on him eating some vegetables to round out the rest of the pyramid. A very slim boy with a lot of food inside of him, which meant he was perfect for me.

He held still with his back to the wall as he undid his jeans for me. They slid down his slender smooth legs to his ankles.

Chris huddled at the side of the foot of the bed: he sank down low enough so the crown of his head would be out of my line of sight. He was kind enough to have propped my desk light at an angle to where the light caressed over Joey's body.

Meanwhile, Joey kept his hand on his belly for a second and then he reached down to the hem. He peeled it off for me and showed me his skin: he let his hair cascade down over his shoulder once he had removed his shirt. He held it down around his thighs and his genitals. His body was delicate, slim, and smooth, where his entire middle was a little bit swollen from everything he had eaten, but his hips had this beautiful curve to them that I hadn't noticed before.

“Let her see your thighs, dude,” Chris beckoned him. Joey showed me his tongue and then he reached to the foot of the bed to put his shirt down. He swallowed and turned his head to the side so shadow cast over his handsome face and some of his curls. His dark skin had this nice sheen in the direction of the light.

Sweet lush dark gradient that made me think of clay.

I adjusted my weight in the bed so I had a better grip on the stylus and the drawing pad.

“Want me ta hold sump'n?” he asked me.

“Nah. Just get in a position that's comfortable even though I'm gonna go quickly. I'd rather you be standing instead of Christopher in the hot seat here.”

“You don't want me to sit for you?” said Chris, slightly hurt, but then again he might have been teasing me.

“Unless you're naked, no.”

The two of them glanced at one another right then. I let it slip out, but then again, I was willing to do that just for him, especially since I lay in bed in my jammies.

I chose real dark brown for the background, and then a slightly lighter tone for the outline of his body.

I decided on earthy brown and orange tones for Joey, more blue ones for Chris.

I started with his head and shoulders, and those thick black curls tousled over his one shoulder. It was like I was feeling him: the stylus took the place of my fingers around the lines and slim curves of his body. Joey was a good model for me even as he bowed his head and let the shadows better wash over the right side of his head.

His waist was my favorite part, though: still with that slim elegance intact but he looked full and round. Slim and yet very soft looking. His hips and legs were lovely given the smoothness of his skin.

Even though he still wore his underwear, I drew a shadow over his hips and his genitals given he kept his hands down by his thighs. All the more erotic and gorgeous.

He reached up to his chest for a gentle scratch but I had come far along on the drawing that it wasn't going to bother me in the least.

I had put down a bit of lighter glaze for his skin tone: I would go from light to dark and then use the blender to make it look smooth.

“Alright, Joseph,” I told him with a smile. “You can put your clothes back on now.”

“Oh, goodie! I was startin' to get a li'l cold.” He stooped down to put his pants back on. Chris then stood to his feet and took his phone out of his pocket; he moved closer to the closet door so he would be out of earshot enough. Joey reached for his shirt but he held it before him like a towel.

“Can I have a look see?” he asked me in a small voice. I moved the laptop towards him so he could see for himself. He gaped at the sight of the drawing in progress.

“Oh my God,” he breathed.

“Like it?”

“That's absolutely beautiful,” he told me. “Like I'm lookin' into your soul as my own.”

“Did you just call yourself beautiful?” I asked him as I felt my heart skip a few beats in my chest.

He raised his eyebrows at me as if he had done something wrong.

“You just called yourself beautiful,” I taunted him, “you just called yourself beautiful!”

He shrugged his narrow shoulders and bowed his head at me. Chris then doubled back out of the closet with the phone pressed to his collar bone.

“Joey's band mates are coming to the speakeasy,” he informed me.

“Holy shit,” Joey himself declared.

“When?” I asked Chris.

“In a couple of days. I just got a call from Scott: he said they're flying out to Seattle and taking the bus down to see us.”

“D'you tell them where the speakeasy is?” I asked him.

“Going to right now—” Chris ducked back into the closet. Joey swallowed and slung his shirt over his shoulder, and I had a feeling as to what he was getting at there.

“I'll make this drawing of Chris quick so I can rub your tummy,” I vowed to him.

“Oh, boy!” he squeaked out as he sank back down to the floor. I polished up a little bit of that drawing of Joey with some more glazes and that blender brush, but I would have to pick up in the morning once Chris surfaced back out form the closet and tucked the phone back into his jeans pocket.

I saved the drawing of Joey and opened a new file.

“Ready?” I asked Chris as I felt the butterflies in my stomach. He peeled off his shirt and tossed it towards Joey, who caught it. He pointed the light down to the carpet, and then he dropped down to the floor. He leaned back on his hands and bent his legs at the knees: he brought his knees closer to his bare chest so some new shadows washed over his chest and his stomach.

I kept the mental note intact with some more blue tones for him. Rich royal blue for his curls and a near black for the shadows around him: the lighter part of his skin consisted of a bright soft blue. Same story there as with Joey, except it felt as though I had put my head between Chris' legs for the shadows on his chest and his stomach, and of course right between his legs.

My mind flashed on the post collapse garden, wherein I imagined Dave and Stone surrounded by flowers and plants, even having some of the flowers sprouting from their bodies. I just thought back to the midst of the pandemic where it felt like anxiety reigned supreme. There was a part of me that wanted to draw roses from Chris' bare legs, but I shelved the idea almost immediately.

He held still long enough for me to fill out the rest of the coloring on his skin and all around his body. Joey yawned and climbed up onto the bed; he crawled up between me and the wall to my left. He lay down next to me and rolled his head over to look at me.

“You're ready for bed, aren't you?” I asked him.

“Absolutely. God, that's a beautiful drawing.”

“I'm almost done, though—just have to blend the tones on his skin.”

And with that Chris climbed to his feet and out of the light. He then lunged back to switch off the light on my desk, which in turn bathed the room in darkness: the sole light came from my computer. I looked to the bedroom door to see the darkness out in the house. I looked back to the computer to check the time: a quarter to eleven!

“Oh my God, it's late,” I said as Chris loomed before me; I was quick to finish up the drawing and save it into the same folder as that one of Joey. I vowed to get back to that one in the morning. I unplugged the drawing pad and coiled the cord up before putting both back into their hiding places next to the head of the bed. I closed the laptop and Chris then nudged the tray away from the bed. He crawled under the covers next to me; it took me a second to realize he had taken off his pants.

“I want to draw Dave and Stone,” I told him in a low voice.

“You want to draw them,” he echoed.

“In the garden. Like—when we see them again, I'll make sure to take a picture of them with the Hollywood sunflowers. I wanna do that.”

Chris leaned into my face and pressed his lips onto mine: the fine hair making up his mustache brushed against my skin.

“Okay,” he whispered to me; in the dim light, I could see him smiling at me. “I'll tell 'em 'bout it.”

I rolled over onto my back. I wondered if Joey had already fallen asleep by the time Chris began breathing at a more heavy, steady pace. I rolled my head to the left to see the shadows blanketed over his face. The whites of his eyes shone at me through the darkness.

“Hi,” I whispered to him. “Still full?”

“Quite.”

Careful not to wake up Chris, I rolled over onto my side and put my arms around his body. The whole middle of his body felt warm and silky to the touch, and I brought my head closer to his own. I moved my right hand to his stomach to feel how tender and vulnerable he was there.

I had to protect him. I had to protect him, but there was Chris laying only an inch right behind me. Nowhere to go.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry chris(t)mas! 😘

I awoke to the feeling of Joey's body pressed up against me. He had put his arms around me and brought his chest closer to mine: his stomach was as soft as a little pillow and his chest was toasty and warm with the collected warmth of the bed.

My back continued to ache but the pain had subsided a bit. It also helped that I was nestled in between two boys unbeknownst to my parents.

I opened my eyes to see his face right above my own, complete with a bit of that coarse jet black hair covering his left eye. He groaned in his throat and shifted his weight right there next to me. The blankets accentuated his slender body so that he looked even softer.

And then there was the steady breathing right behind me.

I turned my head back a bit to find Chris on his side as if he was trying to spoon me. I couldn't see it but I could feel his hand on my hip. He wanted to hold me, too, but Joey had his arms around me as if he was holding a teddy bear.

I wondered if my parents were awake, especially since they went to bed before we did and Chris had climbed through the window. But then I remembered Chris' car was parked a ways away from the house, which meant I could feign it. I could show that Joey went back to his place late last night, and that I was alone in my bed. But how I was to do that was the question.

Joey was soft and warm, but Chris wanted it as much as either of us did. I couldn't exactly climb out of bed without waking those two boy angels up given the pain in my back.

But then again, I was able to roll over onto my back so I was right in between the two of them: I had their noses pointed right at either side of my face. I rolled my head over the pillow to look right at Chris. All those mornings of him texting me good morning and all the times he and I spoke to one another whilst we were in quarantine, and it had come full circle, and yet there I was, laying in between him and another guy.

Chris did a lot for me, and the least I could do was return the favor for him. Careful not to wake up Joey, I moved my lips closer to Chris' neck and kissed him right underneath that strong but smooth jawline. His skin was soft to the touch: it felt like a million years since I had touched him. Someone soft but strong.

I reached up to touch the side of his face and kissed the side of his neck again.

Joey groaned in his throat but he never awoke. I kissed Chris' neck again.

I thought back to when I lay in the backseat of my parents' car and Joey told me he liked me. I brought my mouth to Chris' ear. I examined the straight shape of his nose, the fuzz that made up his mustache, the full shape of his lips, and the smooth silkiness of his black curls. Silky compared to Joey's tight coarse curls. Suburbia compared to backwoods.

“I like you, sunshine,” I whispered into Chris' ear. He never woke up, so I decided to go a little further with it. I cleared my throat. “I love you.”

He cleared his throat but he never stirred. I kissed him again.

I then rolled my head over to see Joey, still asleep himself: his hands lay behind my back.

Torn between two boys, and yet I wanted breakfast, and I wanted to see if I could walk on my own two feet again. I rolled right onto my back again. I closed my eyes and sighed through my nose.

I lifted myself into an upright position. A dull pain emerged in the base of my back, right around my base of my spine. But I managed to sit up in bed, which took the blankets off of Joey and Chris' bodies. Neither of them stirred awake as a result.

I reached forward to Chris' hips and that was when the pain picked up. I grimaced and leaned back a bit to ease it off. I pulled my knees up to see if I could climb off of the bed. I managed to crawl out from underneath the blankets and next to Chris' hips and legs. I crawled off of the bed and landed on the floor.

The base of my spine shot up with pain, but it wasn't debilitating like it had been prior to then. It was just sore. It was also a miracle that I had landed on the floor right on the crack in my tailbone and I never moved the tray holding my computer given it stood right there and the power cable lay on the floor in front of my toes.

I grimaced and breathed through my nose before I climbed up to my feet. I used the edge of the bed to hold me steady. My knees quivered from laying in bed for so long, but I had more strength in my arms and my hands than I had originally imagined. I climbed into an upright position. I let go of the edge of the bed.

I stood there before the bed, perfectly still. I did it. The next obstacle was the ability to walk to the door, and then to the bathroom across the hall.

I pushed my chest out and stretched out my arms. I then reached up over my head to ease the feeling within my back.

It was right then I caught the smell of coffee brewing downstairs.

I turned back to the bed at Chris and Joey still sound asleep with their hands in the place where I was laying before then. Their faces soft and their bodies even softer and I knew they were still warm even after I had climbed out on my own.

I wondered what my mom had made for me that breakfast right then. I also thought about Dave in that I told Chris I wanted to draw him. I could draw him the same way I drew Lars with flowers.

Whether or not I could get in private with him was another question.


	37. Chapter 37

It was tricky for me to walk into the kitchen on my own but I managed to do it: I had used the wall to my right to help keep my balance. That whole lower part of my back ached with every step, but it wasn't so much agonizing however. All I could think about was breakfast and the fact Chris and Joey were still sound asleep in my bed.

I hoped they wouldn't wake up and come into the kitchen especially with my dad right there across the table from me. I thought about Joey and the fact he had walked in willy-nilly, but I wondered if there was any explanation as to why he was in my room, especially in the times my dad cleared his throat as if about to ask me. But he never did: instead, he sipped his coffee and ate spoonful after spoonful of oatmeal, and kept his eye on his phone screen. It was almost weird to think we had almost returned to newspapers during the thick of the pandemic, given the very sight of it in our mail, but we used it more as part of kindling for the fireplace.

I swore I heard Joey and Chris moaning and groaning as part of waking up, but then again, it must have been the pain in my back doing a number on me, though, such that when my dad finally did spoke up, it startled me.

“So you going to meet up with those boys again today?”

“Um, yeah. I promised Joey I'd make something for him today.”

“I was wrong, Holly. You've shown that you can rule with the arts, even in this world.” Which coaxed a smile out of me. After all the time of hearing my dad tell me that art wasn't worth it, it finally felt like I had mastered some kind of achievement. But there was the soft noises I kept hearing near the back of the house, or so I believed they were coming from back there. I was sure of it, too, especially when I finished my cup of coffee, and stood to my feet, and ambled back to the bedroom to get dressed.

“Don't stay out too late, either,” he continued.

“Wear my mask, too,” I added.

“And definitely—wear your mask. And tell those boys to protect themselves, too.” I held onto my lower back with the back of my hand as I made my way down the hall. As it turned out, there were soft noises emerging from my room, but not in the way I had originally believed: Joey was sitting upright in bed while Chris looked ready to climb out of the window even as I put on my jeans, a black shirt, and my jacket. I ambled over to my desk for my good pencils and an eraser, the latter of which I tucked into my coat pocket.

“You wanna come with me to go visit Dave?” he offered me as he fixed his jacket.

“Blond Dave, I assume?” I asked him.

“Absolutely. I'm sure he and Stone have some good paper laying around, too—they've got to, anyways.”

I turned to Joey as I reached my arms out to relax my back.

“And what're you gonna do?”

“Me? I think I might do the same Chris's 'bout to do th' same thing here. But I think I'll wait, though. Y'know.” He winked at me.

“Of course!” I returned to Chris.

“I assume you're just the one going out the window,” I suggested as I felt my lower back twinge in a dull ache of a pain.

“Unless you want me to pick you up and slip you through this thing like a mail slot,” he cracked.

“Mail slot, is that the male version of coin slot?” I retorted, which made Joey clasp a hand to his mouth to keep the laughter from slipping out.

“You wish,” Chris chuckled for a second, only for his face to return to the usual stern expression once again. He then put one foot up on the window sill.

“I'll meet you outside, though,” he added.

“Comin' up behind ya,” Joey joined in; the last thing I saw before I stepped back out into the hallway was his swinging his legs out from underneath the blankets. I clutched onto my pencils as I ducked out of the back door and made my way around the side of the house to the front yard. I made my way to the sidewalk with my back continuing to ache, but I spotted Chris' car parked near the corner at the far end of the block. I recognized my assaulter right across the street, who resembled even more to a boiled ham, to which Chris saw him and frowned. As I neared the car, and I saw him put on his sunglasses, I wondered what was going through his mind right then. I winced as I climbed into the passenger seat next to him.

“I know that guy,” he began.

“Who, that guy?” I gestured to outside of the car and across the street.

“Yeah. I had the misfortune of jamming with him before the pandemic.”

“How was it misfortunate?”

“Have you ever encountered somebody and you just have this feeling that there's something 'off' about them?”

“Yeah?”

“I did in fact feel that way with that guy, but I was a little afraid to tell him. He was so absorbed in the music that I found him a little hard to talk to...” His voice trailed off as Joey neared the car; he climbed into the back seat and shut the door next to him no sooner had his long black curls settled on his shoulders.

“Alright, Joey—so the two of us are gonna drop Holly off at Dave and Stone's loft and then what?”

“Meet up with Anthrax. Told ya like five times—”

“Dave and Stone live in a loft?” I asked them.

“Quite a bitchin' one, no less,” Chris added. We then drove up towards the garden, but just before reaching the service station where I met Dave, Chris hung a right and we drove down the street towards a long low pale brick building nestled back towards the trees. As we pulled up to the driveway, I caught sight of the neon from the sunflowers and the other plants behind the station: tiny glimmers emerged underneath a thick black tarp and the clusters of trees. How they never managed to get caught was still beyond me at that point.

“So you gonna be alright?” Chris asked me as we pulled up to the front door.

“Of course,” I assured him.

“I mean that was sump'n else when ya got outta bed solo,” Joey added.

“Yeah, seriously,” Chris said, “—I was not expecting that in the least. So, maybe we'll come back in about an hour or so, you reckon, Joey?”

“Give or take, yeah. One of us'll shoot out a li'l text, though.”

Without another word, I climbed out of the car. I shut the door behind me, and the last thing I saw was a little twinkle in Chris' eye, one that came from behind his shades. I had whispered that into his ear while he was still asleep, and I wondered if he was even asleep at all when I did that. I made my way to the front door and knocked on the panel four times. A brief silence.

And then the door swung open and I was greeted by Dave's long blond hair cascading down from the crown of his head.

“Hey, Dave,” I greeted him with a smile.

“Hey, Holly,” he seemed surprised to see me. “What brings you here?” I showed him the pencils.

“Oh, that! Come on in!”

Their loft was small on the inside, as it consisted of a little living room with a plain gray couch before the flight of stairs; beyond the couch stood the tiny kitchen and a small wooden table with three spindly chairs.

“Not much, but it's something,” Dave explained with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Where's Stone?” I asked him.

“Downstairs. Even though he didn't contract the virus, he said he still feels awful enough to warrant a little bout of quarantine.”

“I see.”

“So what kind of art did you have in mind for me?” He showed me a big toothy grin at me.

“You,” I replied.

“Me?”

“Yeah. I want you to pose for me.”

“You want me to do what?” he stammered.

“Pose for me.”

“You wanna—go upstairs and do that? I feel like we'll have more interesting lighting up there.”

“Absolutely.”

He led me up the cobbled stone steps to the top level of the loft, two separate bedrooms on either side of me: right before me stood the bathroom and a closet. Dave strode over the bed on the left and took off his sweater, and draped it over the back of a chair next to the bed.

“That chair right there,” I said.

“Want me to sit here?”

“Yeah.”

He took a seat and I spotted a small bouquet of Hollywood sunflowers on his nightstand. He read my mind and picked those up and held them close to his chest. He shuddered a little bit and I wondered where the thermostat was in there.

“Stone's got a little bit of art paper under his bed,” he remarked. “Some left over from his hangin' out with Jeff from prior to the pandemic.”

“Chris thought he did!” I exclaimed as I made my way to the neighboring bedroom. I peered under the twin bed in there and I spotted a pad of art paper on top of a wooden easel. There were three blank sheets left, but I only needed one. When I returned to Dave's room, he had switched on his lap for a bath of golden light over him.

“Must've lasted him a long time if he had this before the pandemic,” I noted as I took my seat at the edge of the bed. A sharp pain shot up my back which brought me down to my side. He knitted his eyebrows together at the sight of that. I would have to draw laying down again.

“It really did. He'd take sheets and cut them up into smaller pieces. He also wouldn't make something every day, either.” I then lifted the pad of paper, and rested it on the bed before me. I took the hardest pencil I had—I would have to return to the speakeasy for colored pencils for the flowers. For the time being, I had to use the graphite for something more than sketching him down.

“Hold still for me,” I told him.

“Should I take my clothes off?”

“Not if you’re feeling cold, nah—you don’t have to.” He swallowed and reached down to pick up the bouquet of Hollywood sunflowers, and yet he seemed reticent to do so, given he held his hand over the base of the bouquet.

“Yeah,” I gently encouraged him. “Just—you know, hold still for me.”

At one point, I leaned in closer to his face to smell the pot on his hair, except it wasn't so much right up in my face: like a fragrance he used to spray on the side of his neck after he climbed out of the shower. And somehow, that helped me draw those blond waves better with the harder graphites.

His face was interesting to draw with that brow and that nose: it wasn't like Chris who appeared completely uniform, or Lars and his softness, or Joey and his exotic depths. Dave made me think of a goat, from the flared nostrils and the default stern expression. He was missing the little horns on top of his head.

And much to my surprise, drawing him and the flowers didn't take very long, not like when I drew Joey and Will the first time in the speakeasy. I believed that since it was just me and him, I didn't have Lars glancing over my shoulder, but then again I was laying on my side and drawing in an odd position. It was either pain in my back, or a continuous ache in my elbow and shoulder.

I lifted back into an upright position to show him the drawing. I wasn't all too pleased with it because of how I was laying on the bed, but I wanted to draw him regardless of what went on inside my body. His face lit up and his mouth dropped agape.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “Lemme see—” He lay the bouquet down on the bed so he could take the drawing pad for a closer look. I watched him fawn over this drawing like he was a kid at Christmas. “Wow. Just wow, I'm truly impressed, Holly. Which reminds me—” He raised his gaze back up to me. “—I really hope the rumors aren't true.”

“What rumors?” I asked him.

“Apparently there's this new thing—Stone overheard it while he was in the hospital—that because of the virus returning, the arts are going to be made robotic at some point. Like they can put the soul of a human into them or something. The soul of a human after they died from the virus and put into robots.”

“So I could be expecting to find myself a human amongst machines is what's going on?”

“Probably. Who knows—he admits he was under a bunch of painkillers when he overheard that.”

“Yeah, but I was under a bunch of painkillers and I feel like I can think much more clearly now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it's like—a part of me that never surfaced before is here and now after looking at Joey through the eyes of morphine.”

“I've found that—” He cleared his throat. “—even by drinking the occasional bit of alcohol and taking hits from a bud—these things loosen your inhibitions. They make you do the things you want to do and as a result, they change you forever.”

I inched in closer to him, such that I could feel the warmth from his body. He shook his head at the sight before him.

“Wow,” he remarked in a hushed voice, and he raised his gaze back up to me.

“I feel closer to you now,” he said, “I’ve wanted to come closer to you for a while now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You know, ever since you and I met each other, I had a feeling you were a cool chick. You just kinda looked it. You know when you meet someone you get kind of a vibe from them that says they’re of good company? I always got that with you. I always wanted to get to know you better, too.”

“Well... why didn’t you say something?” I asked as I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.

“We’ve been trying to keep the garden under wraps—you know. It being a post-collapse garden and everything. It’s not even supposed to be there. Stone and I also just assume you have more on your mind. He and I respect you and your privacy that way.”

He showed me a warm little smile for a second before he spoke again and his expression turned solemn.

“I should also tell you something—and don’t say this to anyone, could you? I feel like if other people like Chris or even Stone find out about this, I could come under a hellfire of sorts.”

I widened my eyes at him.

“What—is it?” I sputtered.

“Have you ever wondered why you don’t see Will that often?”

I paused for a second.

“Not ‘til right now, no.”

“Okay. Have you video chatted with anyone before?”

I nibbled on my bottom lip because I promised Joey to keep it a secret between me and him.

“Yes.”

“Have you wondered why no one uses the computer in the back room of the speakeasy?”

“Yes?”

Dave peered over his shoulder, even though we were alone there in his loft. Stone was downstairs in the basement; he returned to me and gestured for me to move in closer.

“I think Will is in the sex industry,” he told me in a low voice.

“And?” I shrugged at that. “I mean, I’ve drawn him before—he is quite the babe.”

“Like the garden, I don’t know if it’s legal here.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. I’ve been dying to tell someone about it, though, just because it all checks out and again, he could pay the price for it, too. We’re all friends—we all need each other, you know?”

“Need each other and look out for each other,” I added. “Such that we’ll lie for each other.”

“Such that we’ll lie for each other,” he echoed and showed me a little wink. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket right then; I checked to find a message from Chris.

“They're coming back already?” Dave wondered aloud, as stunned as me.

“Apparently so. That was fast! He says Anthrax are at the speakeasy right now—each of them wearing a mask and they're all negative for the virus.”

“Good, because Stone put our masks in the wash before he took a nap and I have no idea if it's done yet.”


	38. Chapter 38

Anthrax themselves were this group of tiny little guys with big New Yorker accents. So big in fact that they filled the whole front room of the speakeasy with their voices alone. Scott was shorter than me, so was Dan. Frank and Charlie were only slightly taller than me, but they were still tiny in comparison to Chris. Each of us had our masks on so I was greeted by those big New Yorker accents muffled underneath those thick pieces of cloth. Blond Dave still had the bouquet of Hollywood sunflowers cradled in his one arm; it truly felt like a party at that point. A bit party at the end of the world.

Joey approached me with his hair pushed back a bit to keep it off his neck and his mask.

“There they are,” he proclaimed. He introduced me to the guys, wherein I found out Charlie was an artist himself.

“Your whole life?” I asked him.

“'Til the day I drop dead,” he quipped in that little Bronx accent of his.

“Also, Hahlly, can I talk to ya fer a second?” Joey asked me out of the blue.

“Sure. Sit tight, Charlie.”

“Take your time!” he encouraged me. Meanwhile, Joey led me to the hall which brought us towards the back rooms, especially the one where he, Lars, and Chris all posed for me. Before we reached the door, he turned around to face me. He stripped off the mask and hung it on the doorknob.

“Joey, what're you doing?” I asked him in a low voice.

“Take it off,” he told me.

“The mask or my jacket?”

“The mask, then the jacket.”

I peeled off my mask to show him my face, but before I could remove my jacket, he put his arms around my waist.

“Whoa, Joey, what're you doing?” I asked him.

“I can't take this anymore,” he begged to me. “My bandmates are all here, and you're rising up. And so am I—”

“Can we at least go in one of these rooms, though?” I suggested to him.

“How 'bout in here?” He gestured to the art room behind him. That gave me an idea.

“Of course.”

He was eager to step inside first and guide me to the side of the room with the easel. It was as if he had read my mind, even though I had no idea if I could given my back still ached. The door closed only part of the way: I peered behind me to see an inch of clearance between it and the edge of the door frame. I returned to Joey as he sank down before the easel. In the dim light, I watched him undo the buttons on his shirt to show me his chest. He gave those black curls a toss back to show me his neck and the smooth skin underneath his jaw.

“Boy, you just be takin' it quickly right now,” I remarked.

“Well, like—I wanna get closer to ya before things take fer ya,” he whispered; his voice was light and delicate.

“And—I wanna get closer to you, too,” I whispered back to him. I could feel myself growing damp already: my nipples tightened inside of my brassiere. I eyed the insides of his thighs: the one thing between me and his skin was that piece of jet black fabric.

“May I?” I offered him as I knelt down before his knees.

“Ya know ya wanna.”

My back ached but I managed to lean over his legs and then his hips. I held onto the button of his jeans with two fingers and pried it open for him. I tugged down his jeans to reveal the smooth dark skin on his thighs. Even in the darkness, I could see him rising.

I set one hand on the floor between his legs and brought my lips towards the inside of his thighs. He started to breathe harder as I brought my lips closer to his knees and his lower legs. I never realized just how gorgeous his thighs were: all fine and smooth and strong looking. Not a lump or pocket of fat to be found; perfect for playing hockey, and even more perfect for the shape of his body. I kissed the inside of his thighs until I reached his hips again. I could feel he had risen up for me; I could feel him right there, right next to my face. My mouth watered at the thought of it. My back could wait.

I reached up for the waist band of his underwear and peeled it back. Just as I thought.

I wetted my lips before I put my lips on his head. Even though it was dark, I could tell he loved every second of it. Every lick. Every slip of my mouth. Every whimper from his lips and every shudder of his chest.

I could feel him loosening up. I could feel him becoming like paint for me. Paint for me.

The pain surged through my back as I crawled up to his head and especially those smooth dark lips of his. He hadn't come yet but I knew he would if I did more for him.

“Have—sex—with—me—” I pled to him, to which he brought his lips to mine. He hung there for a good long minute so I could taste him, and so he could taste me.

“Gladly,” he said in a husky voice. “Only if you fuck me hahder than you would ever.”

“I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to move if I did that for you,” I teased him as I brought my face closer to his.

“Gonna fuck ya so hard ya won't know hit ya,” he whispered right into my ear.

“Right back at you,” I retorted to him. Careful to not let the pain get to me, I pushed myself off of him and I climbed up towards the easel to make it look as though I was about to paint something. All I could see in the dim light was a jar of paint water and some black paint. This would be nothing special: just a collaboration between me and him. Something to go into private for my eyes only.

I let my jeans fall down my legs; I held onto the wall next to me to steady my balance. He was kind enough to help take off my jeans all the way, and once I had bare legs, I lunged for the paint brush and the black paint.

The light as my guide and Joey as my muse.

I waved the bristles of the brush across the palette and they left behind a wide trail of that black paint. I used the edge for a finer depiction of his black curls. I cleaned off the brush in the water and squat down over his face. I could feel him peel the crotch of my underwear to the side for a little touch. I gasped at the cold feeling of his fingers. But it was enough for him to send a chill up my spine and for my nipples to tighten even more inside of my bra.

“Put some more paint down an' I'll give ya the tip o' my tongue,” he whispered with a light caress of my lips. My knees quivering from the pain in my back, I managed to rise up and put down a light layer of paint for the full, round shape of his face. That face I wanted to sit on. I painted his neck when I felt him tickle the inside of my knees. I let the brush wash in the water and I sank down again, that time as I peeled down my underwear.

“Give me everything you got, baby,” I begged him. His tongue slipped inside of my lips; I opened my mouth and a soft moan escaped my throat. I tried to keep it down because the door was still open, and the others were only about ten feet away from us, but his tongue caressed over me. I became his mistress, and he became mine as well. Sneaking around unbeknownst to anyone save for my boyfriend.

“Do it some more,” he begged.

“More paint?”

“Please.”

I rose up again and painted his neck and the expression on his face: a peaceful one with his eyes closed, and yet I wanted something more. I parted his lips as if in a moment's pleasure. I set the brush down again: my back was in agony, but I wanted to take it up a notch. I moved down towards his hips to grind on him. To give it to him in a squat position. It was tricky given the pain in my back, but I managed to gyrate my hips over him.

“I want you ta gimme everythin' you got, baby doll,” he whispered to me, albeit with breaks in his voice. In the dim light, I made out the sight of his eyes closing and his lips parted just a bit, much like the painting up above. Careful not to hurt him, I set my hands on his waist and gyrated even deeper over him. He breathed harder and, almost like magic, the pain in my back subsided. My heart pounded away in my chest.

I had my doubts after laying in bed and trying to feel myself, but having him there with me allowed me to let loose. To forget the pain, even if it meant grinding away on him in the dark. I really became the artist right then and there.

Joey gasped and let out soft little moans from the back of his throat.

“Harder—” he pled. “—harder—harder! I'm yours!”

The pain in my back took a back seat. I was painting with Joey right then. I knew he was going to come.

I gasped and lifted up. He opened his mouth and no sound came out. And he held perfectly still on the floor with his arms out from his body. He lay his head back down on the floor and let out a soft moan for me.

“Good boy,” I whispered to him; I crawled forward for a kiss on his lips.

“No one sees that painting,” he said.

“Of course not,” I replied; I knew he couldn't see me wink at him through the darkness, but I winked at him anyway.


	39. Chapter 39

Joey followed me out of the room, complete with our masks on over our faces. I was tempted to hold his hand as we made our way to the front of the speakeasy, but I knew it would be for nothing given I heard Chris' voice near the mouth of the hallway. Once we emerged from the darkness, I strolled on over to Lars and Will on the other side of the room, both of whom with masks upon their faces. The latter turned to me with a look of concern on his face.

“Dave told you, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” I assured him, “explains why this place was able to reopen, too.”

“Exactly! Lars wanted to bring it back to life and I was able to keep it open. I just wanted to make that clear.”

“Of course.” And figure I was more than okay with it because I felt like a sex worker myself: painting for rock n' roll guys and sneaking around with three of them for the exchange of it. I turned to Lars, who had this peculiar twinkle in his eye.

“What's that look for?” I asked him. He gave his smooth hair a toss back behind his head and looked at me as though he was about to say something to me. And then I realized he was looking past me.

I turned my head to see Joey and his band right behind me.

“Yes?” I asked them.

“The people at the airport told the four of them we could head on back to New York if we wanted to,” Joey answered in a single breath. “We just gotta—figure a way around it without any o' us gettin' exposed.”

“Really?” I thought about the possibility of heading back East to Schenectady, but that meant I would have to be without Joey for a while. There was Chris, and there was Lars, for sure, but I felt something with Joey. Something a little bit hotter than Chris. He and I explored some things together that I was unable to do with Chris, or with Lars for that matter. To have him leave and head on back the two thousand mile trip back to upstate New York meant I would have to let my partner go.

And then there was the possibility of moving out to Schenectady and leaving behind Chris and the West Coast. That also meant I would be away from Lars, too, given his residence down in the Bay Area.

“Just keep the masks on, I presume?” Lars himself asked him.

“Absolutely, an' then some, y'know? The five of us'll go back in hazmat suits if we haveta.”

I returned to Lars and I knew what he was thinking. There was the possibility none of us could see each other again, but I held out a tiny ray of hope for each of them. I was becoming the artist at the end of the world: as long as I was safe, I could visit any of them. Or at least, that was my hope. Lars' green eyes gazed back at me, and that time the twinkle vanished into a look of concern for me.

“May I have a word, Holly?” he offered me. After the times Chris and Joey said that to me, I knew exactly what that meant. I swallowed and, before I followed Lars out to the porch, I noticed Stone entering the speakeasy with a mask over his face and a cane in one hand.

“There he is!” Dave declared. “How'd ya get here?”

They fell out of earshot as Lars and I stepped outside, where we were met with a cool breeze laced with that cool feeling of the Pacific Northwest.

“Close the door,” he told me once he had taken off his mask to breathe in the fresh air. I shut the door behind me and turned to him.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Holly, I have been thinking. Given everything is—how it is at the moment and whatnot—I want to know what you plan to do with your art in the gallery. Myself and Anthrax and Dave—redheaded Dave—and Tom—we all can travel back to our respective places once there is a slight dip in the pandemic once again. The options are truly endless, too.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” I asked him.

“Well. One thing that comes to mind is an art book.”

“An art book,” I echoed.

“Professionally publish your art into a coffee table book of sorts. The bunch of us give you credit where it is due, and so now there must be a way for you to parlay on your—success—” He cleared his throat and the twinkle in his eye returned right then. “—with us—and share it with the world.”

“Are you suggesting I make love to the world with my art?”

“Now, now, if you do that, you might contract the virus,” he teased me with a wag of his finger. “Not like this, no.” He lunged into my face for a kiss on my lips. He broke the kiss for a second, and then he put his arms around me. I felt his tongue slip inside of my mouth; I let my hands slide down his hips and onto the backs of his thighs. He pressed his body against mine.

His hands glided up inside of my shirt, towards the hooks on my bra.

“One final art show,” he whispered into my ear.

“With all of us,” I said. “All of you—with me.”

“We're all here,” he whispered; I felt him unhook my bra. “All of us—here—to support you. Forever and always.”

“No matter what happens.”

“No matter—what—” I felt his hands glide around my ribcage. The tips of his fingers caressed over my belly and up to the underside of my breasts. I was already feeling hot from pulling the Artist on Joey, but Lars was about to make things torrid between us.

He dropped down to his knees right before me. He unfastened my jeans and peeled down my underwear.

Two tongues on my lips within a matter of ten minutes! That was in fact a record for me.

I thought of calling Chris out there with us for a threesome but I had no idea if Lars would object to that.

Even though my back was aching a bit more following my rendezvous with Joey in the art room, I was willing to let Lars pleasure me in his own fashion. His tongue slipped inside and I closed my eyes at the feeling.

“No one knows about this,” Lars begged me, “please. Please, do not tell anyone about this. Even after all of us return home.”

“I won't, baby—I promise.”

If there was one thing the virus had nothing against, it was the fact I could take a secret to the grave with me if I had to. He then rose up to his feet and wiped his hand with the back of his hand. He showed me his tongue and then he dropped his pants.

“Your turn now?” I teased him.

“ _Behage_ ,” he said.

“Huh?”

“'Please,' in my native tongue.”

“Your native tongue—but can you handle an American one?” was all I could think of, but he raised his eyebrows at that.

“That was good,” he complimented me. I sank down to run my tongue along his shaft and the head. I put my lips around it and moved in closer to his body. I dragged my teeth along the taut skin which made him gasp.

“I compliment you and you bite me?” he teased me. I giggled with my mouth full, and I did it again, such that it made him breathe harder than normal. I could feel him inside of my mouth: he was growing harder and firmer right against my tongue. I dragged my teeth along again and I could taste something inside of my mouth. I swallowed a little bit of it down.

I belonged to three boys right then, as I took my mouth off of him.


	40. Chapter 40

“I'm so glad you could make it, Stone.”

“I wouldn't miss this for the world,” he promised me as he adjusted his mask.

For all I knew, it was going to be my last art show with all of these boys there with me. Air travel was growing tighter and I knew Anthrax themselves planned on being there for a mere week, and they were coming up on the end of their week given they spent most of it traveling up to the Northwest. I had to relish every moment of this art show. From all the people who walked in through that door, to the fact that that might have been the last time I would stand in between Joey and Lars. Stone took his seat in front of us with the mask over his face. Even behind that little piece of thick cloth, he looked exhausted.

“I still can't believe I managed to drive my ass here,” he remarked.

“Are you feeling alright?” I kindly asked him.

“I've been really dizzy since I got home from the hospital,” he told me. “Like—been spinnin' around in a whirlwind of a time, if you will. That was lame, I know.”

“No, no, no,” I assured him with a chuckle. I spotted my parents entering the speakeasy from across the room. As long as Chris, Joey, and Lars kept their cool around them, I wondered how this whole thing would fare for us all, especially since they were unable to make it the first time around. I shifted my weight as they strode over to the paintings and the drawings on the wall. As long as we kept mention of my digital art under wraps, I had no reason to feel so nervous about this.

But I felt nervous about it anyway. My parents were looking at my art, especially in the wake of everything and in the wake of my dad's belief that it had to be nothing more than a hobby. I watched the look of wonder on his face as he gazed on at my drawings of Chris and Joey. He turned his head to look at me with a thoughtful look on his face, a look I could make sight of even from behind his mask.

“I like these two,” he told me.

“Those ones?” I said; I turned to Joey, who hunched his shoulders at the sight of him.

“Yeah. They're—good looking guys. Perfect for this sort of thing.”

I sighed through my nose. It felt like someone had lifted a dead weight off of my shoulders. My dad was proud of me.

No sooner had they returned to the art on the walls when Chris stepped into the room right then from the hallway. He adjusted the mask to keep it over the bridge of his straight nose.

“Good job on that painting,” he whispered into my ear. I turned to look at him.

“What're you talkin' about?” I demanded in a hushed voice, to which he nodded towards Joey. I forgot I still had that painting propped up on the easel back in the art room. But Chris flashed me a wink, and I spotted a smile emerging from behind his mask. The secrets were between me and him, and we would take them to the grave if we had to.

“Hang on a second,” Lars spoke out of the blue right then. He bowed away from us and ambled across the floor. I recalled the conversation he and I had on the back porch the night before, and I wondered about that woman who just walked in at that moment. Stone turned to me with his eyebrows knitted.

“Typical Lars,” Chris told him. “The dude's got a silver tongue.” Something about the way in which he said that made my lips twitch from behind the fabric. I felt something caress my lower back.

I turned my head to look at Joey, who raised an eyebrow at me.

“What?” he asked, innocent.

“Don't you 'what' me,” I scoffed. I looked down at his fingers pulsating down by his hips.

“Not in front of my parents,” I whispered to him, to which he winked at me.

“Besides, Chris wants ya,” he pointed out, and I turned around to look at him.

“I didn't thank you for that drawing you made of me the other night,” Chris started in a low voice. “I hope you can do something with your digital works because they're—they're something else.”

“It's my pleasure,” I said to him, also in a low voice. “And I do my best.”

“We're all doing our best,” he replied. “But you, especially. It's tough being an artist, and if you ask me—well, if you ask Stone...”

I directed my attention to Stone himself.

“An artist is the toughest career you can take up,” he told me. “It's right up there with musician and also sex worker. We take so much shit and we're takin' even more shit right now, y'know? So—if you ask me—you're as tough and powerful as any of the docs and nurses in the hospital right now.”

“Well, thank you, Stoney.”

“That's Stoney Pony to you,” he teased me, which brought a laugh out of me. I heard Lars tell the woman, “okay, thank you” and then he hurried back to us, albeit with a look of concern upon his face.

“Alright, gang, I got some good news and some bad news,” he informed us.

“Bad news first,” I quipped.

“Statewide quarantine is returning in full force tomorrow at midnight. If anyone has a plane ticket back to their state, they're saying to get your asses back home.”

“Which means we're all heading on home?” Joey asked him.

“Which means we all have to return home,” Lars replied. “The sooner, the better, too. I have to check my mail anyways.”

“Yeah... I do, too...” Joey's voice trailed off.

“And—what's the good news?” I asked Lars.

“The good news is the woman I just spoke to is in publishing, and she told me to give you this—” He handed me a card with a phone number on it. “—call her up and perhaps strike a deal of sorts.”

“Oh, my God, thank you so much, Lars!” I exclaimed. I couldn't resist it; I threw my arms around him. I wanted to bear hug him but I was unsure if he wanted to bend his spine back that far.

“Well, don't kill him, Holly,” Stone scoffed.

“Oof—no, I promise you—she—won't kill me,” Lars sputtered. I stepped back to look at him one more time. All these boys, they had become my friends and even with the impending distance, they would be my friends for life no matter what. And Chris, Joey, and Lars had come a step closer than that title, too. But as far as I knew, and as far as my parents knew, they were three boys who were my friends, as opposed to my boyfriends.

I knew they were all going to be taking the next red eye out of Seattle, and thus I made sure the art show went without any sort of problem all the way to eleven thirty at night. A successful artist deserved a late night round of dinner and a cup of coffee.

Tom left earlier, but I managed to give red Dave a hug for the road. I put my arms around Scott, Dan, Frank, and Charlie, and part of me expected Joey to peel off his mask so as to kiss me one last time. But instead, he held my head to his chest so I could hear his heartbeat.

“Call me when you get home,” I told him in a near whisper.

“That'll be the first thing I do,” he whispered back to me; his brown eyes never seemed more liquid before than in that moment.

I gave Lars another big hug, to which he almost picked me up upon holding me. I groaned at the feel of his hands on my lower back and then he set me back down.

“Oh, forgive me! I just want to relish in your kindness one last time,” he explained with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Oh, and Lars?” I called after him. He turned around to look at me with his eyebrows raised.

“Thank you again.”

“Of course,” he vowed with a grin on his face, which he obscured with his mask. I watched him stride off into the darkness.

Even though they were right near us, I gave blond Dave and Stone hugs, too.

“You're one of the best friends I could ever ask for,” I told Dave as I put my arms around him.

“And you are, too! Swing by the garden whenever you want—well, whenever quarantine lifts, anyways.”

“And I'll be back here, too,” I said to Will, who emerged from behind us with the keys to the speakeasy in hand.

“You better be,” he teased me.

“I don't give you nearly enough credit,” I told him, to which he shook my head.

“Nah, don't sweat it. Lemme just tell you that—” He gestured for me to come in closer to his face. “—you're the best client I could've ever asked for.” To which he winked at me, and I showed him a grin in response.

We all stepped outside to the night, where we were met with the chilled breeze from the Puget Sound. The first thing I planned to do once my parents and I returned home was wash my hands and clean my mask. Will shut off the lights in the speakeasy and closed and locked the door behind us. I was about to head on over to my parents' car when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Chris, cloaked in darkness from the street and the side of his face illuminated by nothing more than the light of the city and a street light not far from there.

“Call me tomorrow?” he asked me in a soft voice.

“Of course,” I told him. He peered behind me and then behind him, and without another word, he peeled off his mask. I did, too, and we pressed our lips together one last time. I had no idea when I would see Chris again, but I knew it had to be soon. Surely, it had to be.


	41. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“count my cards, watch them fall,  
>  blood on a marble wall.  
> i like the way they all (scream).  
> tell me which one is worse:  
> living or dying first?  
> sleeping inside a hearse  
> (i don't dream).”_  
> -”you should see me in a crown”, billie eilish

Much like the beginning of the pandemic, quarantine never really lifted for the duration of the month. And yet I managed to make art every day. I went back to those first days of quarantine of making art every day with the hope that we all flattened the curve.

And yet cases for the new mutation shot through the roof. Blond Dave told me about the garden and how he and Stone were going to have to find a new venture at some point.

“Where we go from here is anyone's guess,” he confessed to me over the phone one evening. “Stone's been making art much like you. But he and I are in need of a new idea of some sort.”

“Why, did someone catch you?”

“Remember that whole hijinx we did when we first met one another? Swapping flowers and whatnot?”

“Yeah? Vaguely.”

“Well—before he left for L.A. again, red Dave filed a report against us, but not in the way you think, though. Swapping flowers, not so much the garden.”

“But you guys aren't safe with the garden, though.”

“No. We might take these last few crops we have left and go underground. Literally underground, like under the loft. But—don't be surprised if you get a bouquet of Hollywood sunflowers on your doorstep at one point. I'm just entranced by that fab drawing you made of me.”

“Did you get it framed?”

“I did! I hung it right over my bed so I look at it every night before I go to bed.”

I also had my hope that Joey, Lars, and the boys were all good and healthy. I video chatted with Joey again one night and he told me about his taking a test once he returned home to upstate New York.

“Came back negative,” he assured me.

“Oh, good! I'd hate to see that delicate little body of yours be all ravaged like by that.”

“Delicate? Nah. You've seen me, Hahlly, babe. I ain't delicate.”

“You are delicate, though. A delicate precious boy who needs to be protected and loved to the ends of the earth.” That coaxed a blush out of him.

"No word of moving out to Schenectady, though," I confessed to him.

"Once quarantine lifts, you'll probably hear sump'n," he assured me with a wink.

Lars, meanwhile, sent me a letter from his little place in San Francisco. He had written it on nice stationary that smelled of fresh cinnamon, so it made me think of Christmas. I opened it up to find he had also enclosed a Polaroid of himself puckering his lips towards the camera.

The letter read:

_Holly—_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I have been thinking about you every day since I returned home to San Francisco. Whenever I take my seat behind my drum kit, I imagine you there next to me. It only makes sense that if we are there with you in your endeavors, you must be adjacent to one of us, be it myself, Chris, or Joey, or whoever, as we make our own way in the world as well._

_I hope you remain safe, and I hope the deal with the art book goes well._

_Post more of your digital work online! I miss your style and the sensual way in which you go about things. And in fact, you never know: I might see something I like and I might want to come in contact with the artist once again for a commission of sorts. Money in exchange for the work done? Sounds sketchy, I know, but it will be more than worth it._

_More than worth it just how our encounters in the speakeasy have been more than worth it._

_As we say in Denmark, al min kærlighed til dig,_

_Lars_

That reminded me to call up that publishing number the next day as well. I had no idea if it was going to come through at all, especially when I called the number and I was put on hold for thirty minutes. After that, I hung up Lars' letter on the wall over my bed so I could look at his hand writing every morning when I woke up and that corner of my room would smell like vanilla. But I knew in my heart of hearts that it was definitely a chance to take even with a thirty minute waiting time, as Chris assured me.

“Hell, yeah, I'm all for it,” he said when I called him that afternoon.

“Their office closes in about two hours, too,” I added.

“Get on it, Holly, babe,” he coaxed me. “It'll definitely be a feat to talk about once the pandemic goes away for good.” He cleared his throat and I heard a rustling noise on his end.

“When quarantine lifts all the way, we're all getting together at the speakeasy again,” he said.

“Agreed. I miss all of us hanging out together.”

“Really, I miss you so much. That first night back home? It was hard. I missed having you right next to me. By the way...”

He cleared his throat again.

“Do your parents know about us?” he asked me in a near whisper.

“Nope. At least, as far as I know. After the bike accident, they referred to you, Joey, and Lars as my friends. As far as I know, they still see you that way.”

“And we are all still friends, even though—I do know about you and the two of them.”

“And you're still fine with it?”

“Yeah. Just tells me you're hot. Hot enough to hang out with a bunch of dicks and walk away unscathed and with a shitload of good looking art to boot. God, I want to hang out again!”

“Hang out and have some fun together,” I added, and I couldn't resist the smirk on my face. I lay back down on my bed, flat on my back so I could gaze up at the ceiling. “Nothin' serious, y'know?”

“Of course.”

“Remember, we're just the clientele. Clientele like what Will deals with.”

“You're my bitches,” I teased him. “I'm the artist.”

“The artist. Anyways, I'm gonna take a shower. Talk more tomorrow?”

“Of course. You wanna send me another pic of you standing over Mount Rainier again, don't you?”

“You know I'm gonna,” he teased me, which brought a laugh out of me. We hung up at the same time and I lay my phone upon my chest. I gazed up at the ceiling and I thought about all of those boys I got to hang out with in that building. It didn't look it at that moment, but I knew we would all congregate together and make love to each other again.

I just knew it, because I was the artist.


End file.
